Prudence & Necessity
by Stormravan
Summary: Tragedy has struck Longbourn with consequences for all. A most unexpected offer of marriage promises rescue but, having brought herself to accept, will a true partnership be forever out of Elizabeth's grasp? Rated T for safety.
1. Chapter 1

_Standard Disclaimer:_ I am not Jane Austen. I will never be Jane Austen. I can only hope she will eventually forgive me for playing with her toys.

 **Author's Warnings**

 **On Posting:** I hesitated a long while before deciding to post this story on the net. I won't go into the excuses but for various reasons I deal frequently with _life interruptus_ that makes it difficult to write for long periods. I have another story that has stalled for that very reason. (I haven't actually abandoned it, but it has been a _very_ long writing gap.) So I must warn you that posts are likely to be erratic. On the plus side I now have three people nagging me to finish the tale, so chances are very good that it will make completion.

The main reason I finally decided to post is in hopes of getting some constructive critical feedback. This isn't intended as a guilt-trip. I'm a largely silent reader myself, showing appreciation through favoriting or the one or two sentence applause. So if all you do is read and enjoy, I will take no offense. But if you _do_ want to comment on spots in need of correction or tweaking (or share what you enjoyed, knowing what one does right is important too!) please speak up. All I ask is that you be specific and polite.

 **On Accuracy:** For those readers very concerned with historical accuracy of customs and manners, be warned that this story may not match your standards. The trouble is that while I enjoy _reading_ accurate depictions of an era, I find when I try to _write_ Regency/Georgian society accurately, keeping in mind all the minutiae of rules governing relations between the sexes (which involves stuffing one's brain into a very rigid cage), something inside me starts screaming for air. I would make a rather poor Regency lady, I'm afraid.

What I try for instead might be called 'In the Spirit Of'. By which I mean I _do_ pay attention to propriety and respectability but from a modern mindset, which is less concerned about who can permissibly send letters to whom, or who can ride in a vehicle together without a chaperone, and more with _actual_ morality. I will make mistakes. Some are deliberate, some aren't. I hope you can enjoy the story anyway.

 **On General Tone:** Though I intend to include some humor this detour from cannon begins with tragedy and the consequences cannot be justly ignored, even at the risk of (horrors) melodrama! I don't know yet exactly where this tale will take me but grief is a theme. So if you're looking for lighter fare it would be best to save this for another day, at least to begin with.

 _You have been warned!_

* * *

 **Chapter One**

 _ **Scene:** 1812, April 9th, Thursday. Hunsford Parsonage, parlor. Following Colonel Fitzwilliam's distressing revelation Elizabeth has developed a terrible headache and opted to remain at the Parsonage while the rest of the party calls at Rosings, instead occupying herself in the reexamination of Jane's letters._

 _ **Point of Departure:** Elizabeth has been interrupted in her task by the arrival of another, most terrible, communication. (This first scene is necessarily a mix of Austen's words and my own. There are changes here though, with repercussions both major and minor, so **read carefully**. After this the rest, aside from the odd turn of phrase, is original.)_

Elizabeth stared blankly out the parlor window as evening shadows began to gather and reach forth their clutching hands, the letter abandoned in her lap.

The letter. The damnable and damning letter.

Someone bustled about, stirring the fire against the encroaching nighttime chill, but Elizabeth barely registered the cheerful commotion.

Part of her, even in her shocked state, was still able to think if only to mock her for her own hubris. In all the times she had considered her parents natures and the pitfalls of fortune and fate she had never considered such an outcome. She should have. The seeds of this disaster had been laid years before by the spendthrift ways of their mother and indolence of her father, and she had not been blind to either vice. But present prosperity and other, less worldly fears had pushed possible consequences far from her mind, and it had never been her way to dwell on unpleasant prospects. Disaster had been a familiar looming shadow and hence had lost its power to motivate.

The sound of a doorbell drew her a little back to the present, recalling that Colonel Fitzwilliam had once before called late in the evening and might now have come to inquire particularly after her. Amiable though the gentleman was, she did not know if she could now endure his company. Remembrance of his gentle warning of his own prospects only brought her new situation into stark clarity. He would be kind, no doubt. But kindness at present was a threat; for the ice which had speared her had brought in its wake a blessed numbness, one that might not survive gentle solicitude.

But this concern was soon banished, and her spirits were very differently affected, when she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room. In a hurried manner he immediately began an inquiry after her health, imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were better. She answered him with cold civility. Instead of thawing, the room seemed to chill further, the numbness spreading until she felt as if she viewed the scene from the other side of a window or looking glass. He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up walked about the room. After a silence of several minutes he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began:

"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

This singular announcement was so startling that amazement held her completely immobile.

 _I am gone mad. My mind could not withstand the strain, and I am gone mad._

Her silence and the apparent serenity of her countenance he considered sufficient encouragement, and the avowal of all that he felt, and had long felt for her, immediately followed. Elizabeth fears were soon laid to rest, for in his following words she found the man of her acquaintance. He spoke well, but there were feelings besides those of the heart to be detailed and he was not more eloquent on the subject of tenderness than of pride. His sense of her inferiority—of its being a degradation—of the family obstacles, which had always opposed to inclination, were dwelt on with a warmth which seemed due to the consequence he was wounding, but was very unlikely to recommend his suit.

In spite of her deeply-rooted dislike, she could not be insensible to the compliment of such a man's affection, and though her intentions did not vary for an instant, she was at first sorry for the pain he was to receive; till his subsequent language caused her to lose all compassion in incredulous disbelief. Reality seemed to grow stretched and thin around her as all feeling faded. In this vacuum was left a complete detachment.

Darcy concluded with representing to her the strength of that attachment which, in spite of all his endeavors, he had found impossible to conquer; and with expressing his hope that it would now be rewarded by her acceptance of his hand. As he said this, she could easily see that he had no doubt of a favorable answer. He _spoke_ of apprehension and anxiety, but his countenance expressed real security. If she had been capable of laughter in that moment the sheer ironic ludicrousness of the situation must have overcome her breeding, but humor, or any emotion, was entirely absent from her. It was with some struggle that she was able to form her response.

"In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned. But I cannot—I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry to have occasioned pain to anyone. It has been most unconsciously done, however, and I hope will be of short duration. The feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented the acknowledgment of your regard, can have little difficulty in overcoming it after this explanation."

Mr. Darcy, who was leaning against the mantelpiece with his eyes fixed on her face, seemed to catch her words with no less resentment than surprise. His complexion became pale with anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. He was struggling for the appearance of composure, and would not open his lips till he believed himself to have attained it.

At length, with a voice of forced calmness, he said: "And this is all the reply which I am to have the honor of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavor at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance."

"I might well wonder," she replied distantly, "why with so evident a desire of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character? Was not this some excuse for incivility, if I _was_ uncivil? Is your arrogance and conceit so great that you feel it appropriate to insult at every turn the woman you profess to love, even in the act of supplication for her hand?"

As she pronounced these words, Mr. Darcy changed color; but the emotion was short, and he listened without attempting to interrupt her while she continued.

"Had not my feelings decided against you, had they been indifferent, or had they even been favorable, no woman with so much as a spark of intelligence could regard such a proposal with aught but the severest alarm and offense. Do you really think your wealth and consequence so vast that your future bride will gladly submit herself to such disdain? That she will happily ignore every evidence of a future filled with bitterness and misery when your sensibility of 'honorable considerations' will have tainted every aspect of marital felicity? That your _own_ contempt for the supposed desires of your heart would not sound clear warning of an equally implacable hatred once the chains of matrimony bind you forever to a wife whose family and connections, whose very origin, you hold in disgust?"

"Should I have dissembled then?" he demanded. "Stooped to concealment of my honest concerns? Would my suite have prospered had I, with greater policy, concealed my struggles, and flattered you into the belief of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination; by reason, by reflection, by everything? But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections? To congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own? Is your own pride so frail as to be offended by the honorable scruples of an honest heart?"

The cool calm of her reply to this attack could not fail to convince of her sincerity. "You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way than as it spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner." She saw him start at this, but he said nothing, and she continued, "You could not have made the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it."

Again his astonishment was obvious; and he looked at her with an expression of mingled incredulity and mortification. She went on. "From the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners have impressed me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others. That groundwork has only been reinforced by subsequent disclosures. First in Mr. Wickham's account of your shameful dealings with him; followed by your unjust and ungenerous separation of Mr. Bingley and my beloved sister, exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability, and the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind."

"Mr. Wickham! Mr. Wickham is not– I have not–" He inhaled sharply. "And _this_ is your opinion of me. Very well, madam, we have both, I think, said enough. Please, forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness."

Darcy strode to the door yet halted at the portal, facing towards his escape but unaccountably hesitating to cross the threshold.

 _Oh, go away! Why can you not just leave?_

"Miss Bennet, I beg of you one final indulgence. Tell me, was I truly so utterly mistaken? Did you never at any time find enjoyment in my company?"

She considered this, memories parading before the barrier isolating her mind. At last she nodded. "I enjoyed the stimulation of our skirmishes, the quickness of your thought. The knowledge of your disdain overshadowed the pleasure but it existed nonetheless. I suppose... On reflection I must own that if you have truly harbored a partiality for me these past months then blindness was not your error alone."

"Thank you for your– Thank you. I will not stay to further distress you."

 _Distress._ The word echoed in her mind, growing louder with each repetition, sending shockwaves through the encasing glass. Crevasses formed, spidered out, cracking and cracking. Unable to withstand the destruction the barrier shattered and with it seemed to fall her entire being.

 _I feel. I feel. I feel. Too much!_

0-0-0 0-0-0 0-0-0

Darcy had passed the servant stationed discretely by the parlor and was opening the entry door, when an anguished cry reached his ears. Spinning, he sprinted back the way he came. He pushed past the servant who had halted uncertainly at the entrance, to find Elizabeth bent nearly double in her chair, arms wrapped protectively around her head, her small frame shaken with deep, ripping sobs. The sight was a body blow. Instinct informed him her suffering was not of his creation; it was too powerful, too destructive. No, this was grief and despair that he recognized all too well.

"Some water, quickly please." The servant, given direction to act, leapt quickly to the task while Darcy knelt by Elizabeth's side, a hand on her shoulder. "Miss Bennet, what has happened?"

There was no response and he tried again.

"Miss Bennet– Elizabeth, please! What has caused this?"

A brief shake of her head, both a denial of ability to speak and a rejection. Her sobs increased in force until he became truly alarmed. The servant returned bearing a pitcher and water glass. Darcy gently pulled one arm down, pressing the cup to her hand.

"Elizabeth, drink this. Please. I realize I'm the last person you would wish to see to your needs, but I cannot leave you in this state. Please." He knew not what else he uttered, but at last he was able to coax her to drink, taking the water in small sips until her breathing softened though her tears did not cease. When a reasonable degree of calm had returned he ventured to inquiry once again. "Miss Bennet, will you not tell me what has occurred? On my honor, I ask only that I may know how best to aid you."

At this Elizabeth again shook her head, then her shoulders slumped. She reached down and retrieved some folded pages that had fallen unnoticed to the floor. Standing shakily she pressed the papers to his chest, her eyes turned determinedly away from his, before exiting the room on the servant's arm. Her parting words replayed in his mind even as her slow steps rose up the stairs to the private chambers. Almost blindly he grasped the now vacant chair and sank into its support.

 _Run,_ she had said. _Read this, take your scruples and run, and leave to me my pauper's pride._

He stared at the pages with dread, raised them, and began to read.


	2. The Letter

_Standard Disclaimer:_ I am not Jane Austen. I will never be Jane Austen. I can only hope she will eventually forgive me for playing with her toys.

Thank you to all for your positive support! Now, for those who have been wondering what is going on, here is the letter that changes everything.

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

 _Dear Lizzy,_

 _Please forgive me, for I have been so overtaken by events that I only just now discovered that no one has written you, or Jane, or the Gardiners. Before you read further, and in all seriousness, prepare yourself for a distressing shock._

 _Three nights ago our family attended a dinner party with the Phillips. My monthlies were making their presence felt and so I remained behind. I was woken late that night to the news that our family had not yet returned. A search party was formed and at length the carriage discovered. You remember that hill with the stream hard by, which Mr. Rillcreek is always complaining about? The soft shoulder verge has collapsed. Whether the weight of the carriage was its final stress or if the carriage attempted to traverse it, already fallen and in the ignorance of night, we know not._

 _The horses, I am told, would have died instantly, their necks snapped._ ** _Our parents_** (This partial sentence is crossed through. Upload won't maintain formatting.)

 _Our father was granted the same mercy. Our mother was not so fortunate but her spirit had fled by the time of discovery. Lydia has some broken bones, is much bruised, and we feared frostbite but the doctor has found nothing else physically wrong with her. She has yet to speak. It has been a struggle to even make her eat. Mary's survival is as yet wholly uncertain. She is in little pain. I can only see this as a blessing as her legs are greatly injured; but it is mixed blessing at best, as she has no sensation at all from the waist down. The doctor is very concerned but has hopes that as the swelling near her spine and hips subsides feeling may return._

 _The bodies have been returned to Longbourn, and Mrs. Hill has aided me in preparing them for burial. The funeral arrangements are proceeding, our parson and his wife have been most kind, and I have been sorting through all our dresses to find the most suitable for mourning dye. I have held off on actual treatment of yours and Jane's save one each. (Yours is that wretched fleur-de-lis print Mama ordered, but you despised. I figured you would not object. Poor Lydia did not even flinch when I threatened her favorite muslin.) The house is now garbed in mourning hue as well; a small miracle produced by Mrs. Hill, given the timeframe. The one good thing coming out of this ghastly cold spring weather is that we can afford a small delay to the funeral to allow your party to return._

 _A confession: Mrs. Philips has been worse than useless, wailing and moaning (which I do not begrudge), and repeatedly overriding_ _even her own_ _decisions regarding the funeral and the doctor's orders for Mary and Lydia's care (which I do), and demanding_ _every attention_ _until little else could be accomplished. I at last requested our uncle to come retrieve her and the servants to bar her entry. Impolitic and unfeeling, I know, but I am sure it is not the worst of my mistakes, and is_ _not_ _one I think I'll regret._

 _It feels almost blasphemous to mention the next in light of all else, but it seems our troubles have not yet reached their limit. This morning's breakfast (which I have been taking with the servants) was disturbed by that odious Mr. Bromley. He was going on about some cloth ordered on the family account. I tried to hear him out calmly, but when he began yelling of many yards of lace purchased in anticipation (as if Papa would_ _ever_ _allow Mama so great an indulgence) Mr. Hill came to the room and physically forced him from the house. After which Mrs. Hill sat me down and very kindly and gently began explaining._

 _I had known, of course, about the entail. How could we not? I have some notion of a small portion left to Papa's dependents upon his decease but, even allowing for Mama's exaggerations, cannot imagine it of a sufficient amount to support five women in any degree of comfort. Neither have I, amidst the other pressing concerns, been able to locate anything of a financial matter save the household accounts. (I knew there was no lace!) I have asked Mary, though her mind is much shadowed by the draughts she is given, and she does not recall any further financial details or settlements either._

 _With these facts apparently known to the general view, it seems some of the local merchants have_ _already_ _begun applying to the house for recompense of monthly tabs, and Mr. Bromley is only the first to approach directly. Mrs. Hill warned me that he was also unlikely to be the only one to attempt to 'pad the bill'. She said something I was too upset to clarify at that time about vultures in serpent's clothing? Her Irish had gotten a bit thick. Still, it is all making the hedgerows seem to loom very large._

 _Oh, Lizzy, I know, I know, I ought to write Jane as well but I do not think I can bear another such letter. You will know better than I on so many matters, not the least of which is how to tell Jane. She is already so heartbroken over Mr. Bingly that I fear this may be a shattering blow, and I have not your intimacy with her to soften it. I will of course write our Uncle and inform him of events, but I will ask him to hold in silence until your arrival._

 _Please, come home quickly. The funeral is set for Tuesday and I dread being the only Bennet to attend._

 _Yours in Great Distress — Kitty_

* * *

Not a particularly original idea, I realize. But there are only so many reasonable sources of disaster, and real life is frequently prosaic. (I did think another author's idea of an outbreak of scarlet-fever was pretty creative. Have you ever noticed how in romance we tend to shy away from 'icky' disasters, even though they were probably the most historically common?) This not the actual plot-bunny that dragooned me at shotgun point into writing – that begins with the next chapter. But it _is_ a necessary means to the end.

By the by, if anyone is sufficiently acquainted with Irish idioms to know an appropriate one to swap out for Mrs. Hill's "vultures in serpent's clothing" and/or that Kitty can suitably mangle (a reflection on Kitty, not Mrs. Hill), I would be very grateful.

 _ **A few notes from my research:**_ (I'll be including some of the highlights of my efforts here at the bottom. Ignore them if you want. I've just always found glimpses behind the curtains fascinating myself, so thought I'd share. I'll try to keep them shorter than the actual text. _wink_ )

 **Funeral customs —** By Regency times a full range of funeral services (coffins, dressing the body, etc) were generally available _except_ , according to my source, in cases of financial woes or in rural areas. Hertfordshire, while not complete backwoods, has always impressed me as distinctly rural, (please correct me if I'm wrong). Thus it seems probable that such services would be available, but not necessarily convenient, and likely to come a little dear. Kitty's working with Mrs. Hill to wash and dress the bodies is both traditional and seems a reasonable compromise, leaving funds for other factors like ice to preserve the bodies till burial (big expense right there), renting the hearse and the actual burial and such. If you want an eye-opener regarding Regency funerals, I recommend the Regency Redingote article _The Regency Way of Death: L_ _adies_ _at F_ _unerals_ _?_. Just type it into your search bar and it should come up.

 **Convenient weather** — When watching the A&E _Pride and Prejudice_ I received an unconscious impression of a rather permanently sunny England, where snow magically appears on the ground. Ludicrous of course, but it wasn't until I was plotting a scene and mentioned rain lashed streets that I thought to check what English weather was really like. I was fortunate enough to find a historical weather record and (using the MacKinnon and Chapman chronology) located the weather report on the spring of 1812. It was not a good year. Spring and summer were unusually cold, wet (with the exception of April which was abnormally dry), and followed by "one of the four or five coldest winters in the CET record."

So, no rain lashed streets in April, but it did solve one difficulty: how the funeral could be stalled until the elder Bennet sisters and their relations could return home, without spending a literal fortune on ice. With temperatures below freezing it simply wouldn't be a concern. Lydia and Mary surviving potential frostbite is more of an issue! The previous months' constant rainfall would probably have been the final contributing straw to the road's collapse as well.


	3. Revelations by Firelight

_Standard Disclaimer:_ I am not Jane Austen. I will never be Jane Austen. I can only hope she will eventually forgive me for playing with her toys.

 **Comment Response:** Ok, these are just too long. Since those to whom the responses were addressed will most likely have seen them, I am removing them. Just as a reminder, if you don't sign in you'll be an anonymous Guest and I can't respond to you through Private Messaging. (Same goes if you're set to disallow.)

Thank you all for the kind words and encouragement. I will be trying for a weekly update rate, but can make no promises. Story quality comes before quantity.

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

Mrs. Collins was greatly surprised on their party's return to discover lights still burning in the parlor window. While her friend was rarely subject to headaches, experience led her to expect Elisabeth to retire early to bed in hopes of a sleeping cure, rather than resorting to medication. Her surprise increased when opening the parlor door revealed, not Elizabeth, but Mr. Darcy. At once thoughts on an anticipated courtship of her friend rose only to be instantly dismissed. Darcy's countenance, though never particularly open, was as distant and cold as could possibly be imagined. His thoughts were clearly elsewhere and even with her salutation it was some moments before he noted her presence.

He greeted her with much formality, apologizing for his unexpected presence in her home, and begged her indulgence in the further use of her parlor, possibly for the length of the night. "I have a great need for thought you see and much though I respect my aunt, Rosings is not for me the most restful of locations. There is always something that must be attended to without delay."

This unusual request was graciously granted. Confirmation that solitude was desirable was also obtained, and a promise was made to otherwise engage her guests and husband. In this task Charlotte was so successful as to first distract Mr. Collins (much fatigued as he was by the excitement and exertions inherent in attending to his noble patroness) with business in his study where she also supplied him a working dinner, and then to send him off to an early sleep without any knowledge of their unusual lodger. The matter of her other guests were more easily settled as a quick peek bore out her previous assumption regarding Elizabeth (her friend's poor dress would be sadly wrinkled on the morrow), and a carefully hoarded novel now proffered served to distract Maria for the rest of the evening and, Charlotte was guiltily aware, likely late into the morning. Thus Charlotte was able to attend to her nightly rounds in a peace she had not had since her guests' arrival.

It was not till a flicker of candlelight distracted her from the mid-night siren call of the larder that she again gave her lodger much thought. She had sent him the same small cold collation she'd supplied her husband and otherwise ignored him as requested. Now her curiosity was raised. Stepping softly past John, still at his uncomfortable post at the parlor entrance, she quietly opened the door. She found a man shattered. If she had not known his identity she would hardly have recognized him in that moment, so transformed was his countenance by the firelight and whatever grievous vision he saw in its depths.

Charlotte was not by nature a highly emotional being. Her form of compassion lent itself best to practical matters, not the deeper waters of the soul. She had once thought it a good complement to the parson's role. But, perhaps because of her position and perhaps because her husband was the man he was, she was slowly acquiring a greater insight and interest into the cares of others. It was this newfound trait which compelled her, carefully leaving the door wide open for propriety's sake, to enter the room and softly speak.

"Mr. Darcy, are you well?"

His head jerked upward and he blinked before answering, the mask of haughty reserve locking firmly into place. "Yes. Yes, of course."

She paused a few feet in wondering, as she so often did in recent days, how her beloved and infinitely wiser grandmother would have dealt with such a situation. "Sir," she said with some hesitancy, "I realize it is neither my place nor my affair but should you wish someone with which to discuss this matter troubling you so," a gentle shrug, "well, I have discovered of late that it is not only the clergy themselves who receive confessions. You may depend upon my discretion."

"You are very kind, but– No, wait. Perhaps, if you would not consider it a betrayal of friendship, there is a way you could aid me."

"This concerns Eliza?" She sat swiftly, now alarmed.

"Miss Bennet, yes." Darcy glanced down at some papers his lap. He grasped them carefully, as if rough handling might somehow cause the pages to lash out. "She showed this to me in the certainty, I expect, that it would speed my departure. It cannot be concealed long, though I would ask for Miss Bennet's sake that you wait to inform your husband until she is away."

Reluctantly he handed the pages over, rose and began to pace. Charlotte perused the letter and blanched. "Dear Lord above have mercy! This is…There are no words for this."

"Oh, there are. Association with my military minded cousin has taught me many. But they are not, alas, suited to more delicate ears."

The clock ticked quietly in the hall as both were lost to their own thoughts. At last Charlotte began to study the pacing figure. "I note, Mr. Darcy, that you are still here."

"Yes, Mrs. Collins, I'm still here."

"What then are your intentions, sir?"

Mr. Darcy halted to stare bleakly out at the moonlit garden, hands clasped behind him. "I have been asking myself that for several hours now. There is much I'm still conflicted on, but I am certain at last in what my course _ought_ to be. What I do not yet know is if it is possible."

"And that is?" Charlotte asked.

"I cannot abandon Miss Bennet to this fate. Her sisters have my concern as well but I am–" a pause, a deep breath, "–honest enough to admit she is my primary concern. I would gladly support her and sisters without thought of return but…no matter how discrete…" Charlotte nodded her understanding of the point. Silence in such matters could never be absolutely guaranteed and, if discovered, Elizabeth and her sisters would be tried and condemned as courtesans in the court of opinion, regardless of how unjust the charge. "Nor, I think, would she accept charity from me. Perhaps before—but not now. That leaves only one path."

"Marriage."

"Yes."

Silence. Several small details clicked together in Charlotte's mind.

"She has already refused you."

"Yes." His shoulders lowered by a barely perceptible degree, struggling but not quite able to maintain the stoic facade. "I think I must have happened upon her just after she received the letter. In my own agitation I took no note of how still and solemn she was and supposed– No." The hands clenched. "That is not truth. In truth I have seen nothing but my own desires in her for some time now." He fell silent. Charlotte cleared her throat, striving for a neutral tone.

"You proposed?" She prompted.

Darcy laughed softly, the sound devoid of humor.

"Yes, I proposed."

"She did not react well?"

"No, she did not react well. I presumed…far too much."

Charlotte could only shake her head. _Oh, Eliza._

"Do you know–" Darcy began, hesitated, "Are matters truly so dire as Miss Catherine believes?"

"Yes and no. Longbourn _is_ entailed upon my husband and Mrs. Bennet was not one to keep her troubles in silence, so I have no doubt the merchants are circling. But they are not immediately penniless. I am aware of a settlement of five thousand pounds." There was a swift intake of breath from the gentleman. "It will not spread much farther between four than five. Their relatives are not in a position to sponsor them in society and their support will be a burden. It will be necessary to marry them off swiftly or obtain them employment—and there are few respectable occupations available a woman, let alone one gently bred. Nor are they often palatable to any woman of spirit. Elizabeth… It will be difficult for her. But it is her sisters that I fear for. Lydia is still at that age when everything is felt to its fullest measure, but nothing is understood. I fear inexperience will combine with impulse to—well, what particular end I know not. But I fear. Catherine, though she is the elder, has always followed in Lydia's wake. And if Mary lives she is likely to need some rather expensive care."

He nodded. "And Miss Jane?"

"Jane has many good, steady qualities but she is as innocent as she is beautiful and cannot bear to think ill of anyone. I cannot imagine anyone more vulnerable than she in a position of employment, and scarcely less so under such great pressure to marry. She will of course act with propriety, but will never think to protect herself beyond. She would, a succulent lamb, walk unhesitatingly into the jaws of the lion and never imagine that it might consume her. It will be dangerous enough for Eliza, but Jane? It will require God's most vigilant angels to safeguard her." Charlotte closed her eyes as if she could deny her own conclusions but there was no relief.

"You speak bluntly," Darcy said hoarsely.

"I am long out of the schoolroom, Mr. Darcy. I prefer to deal with the world as it is. Even did I not, since my marriage and the assumption of my role as a parson's wife, I've become far more acquainted with the evils of humanity than most. My illusions are wholly vanished."

"Would your husband, as a relative–"

Charlotte flinched, shamed and weeping inside for small vanquished hopes. "My illusions are absent there as well. The families were barely on speaking terms before Mr. Collins' November visit to Longbourn. He came specifically to select a wife from among his cousins, knowing their prospects. Perhaps if his eye had settled on Mary– But it did not. Instead he chose the Bennet daughter most able to comprehend and least able to bear his follies."

Darcy glanced at her, startlement briefly cracking his mask of stoicism. She nodded.

"From what I have gathered from his words Eliza was amazingly civil in the face of his condescension and obstinate disbelief of her refusal, of even her _ability_ to refuse. His nature is not one to endure rejection with equanimity, I'm afraid. He tolerates her presence here for my sake and because his self-regard is flattered by the supposition of her regret. It is possible he might be convinced to support the Bennets for a time to supply his own vanity and pride. But soon enough the association would wear thin on both sides and if they do not sally forth of their own accord he will rationalize his Christian charity to an end and congratulate himself for his magnanimity."

"I see." Darcy crossed the room to the fireplace, looking into the flames for some time before raising steady eyes to meet hers. "Mrs. Collins, I have no desire to force Miss Elizabeth into a marriage abhorrent to her. In light of all this, however…do you think she might consider me the lesser of evils?"

Charlotte blinked. "You would reapply for her hand?" She asked cautiously.

"Yes."

Almost, _almost_ a bewildered "Why?"escaped her lips but she caught it back. The same haughty superiority which sparked the question forbade its utterance. After a moment she nodded. "Very well. I will forward your suite with Elizabeth. Given time to consider, I believe Eliza will be too sensible to decline. Do you remain here or return on the morrow?"

Straightening, Darcy rolled weary shoulders. "I will return, I think. I will need to arrange a carriage to take her to her sister and thence to Longbourn at her convenience. Once her acceptance is confirmed, I will head as swiftly as I can to Netherfield myself, if Bingley is agreeable, to forestall the creditors."

"It is still dark, will you take a servant with you? It would be too much to lose you to a footpad at this point." Charlotte asked, rising to leave.

"Yes, thank you. That would be a bitter irony."

Pausing in the doorway Charlotte took firm hold of her courage.

"One final thought, Mr. Darcy. If you do this, for both your sakes, I would ask that you give up any expectations of gratitude or other debt. Not because the Bennets will not feel it, they will. But because I have seen just how poisonous such expectations can become to all parties involved. I would not have whatever felicity you and Eliza obtain tainted by it."

Darcy looked at her for a long moment and Charlotte had the odd impression that he was, for the first time, truly seeing her.

"You speak a good deal of wisdom, Mrs. Collins." He nodded. "I shall take it under advisement."

* * *

 _ **Notes from my research:**_

 **On finances** — I will discuss it further in later notes, but Darcy's reaction to learning of a settlement of £5,000 (total, _not_ per annum) is _not_ unwarranted. The Bennet girls are facing at very least a life of genteel poverty (a phrase that at heart seems to mean that while your income is pitifully small you don't have to work for it), and likely _worse_. This fact Darcy would grasp instantly. If anything, Charlotte is soft-peddling the matter, just a smidgeon, out of delicacy.

 **On the use of contractions** —So, just to start things off, (and to head off the otherwise inevitable point of argument) if you type in 'The Jane Austen Word List' you will find a blog with a list of all the words found in Austen's collected works. Included are instructions for using them to spell-check your own work. (Much praise and gratitude to Ms. Kowal.) But if you're feeling a little more on the lazy side (as I was), or are less concerned about hard-core authenticity, you can search the word list for an apostrophe and come up with all the contractions Jane Austen _**herself**_ used. Some of them she used quite frequently. They are: don't, here's, I'm, I've, ma'am, o'clock, shan't, there's, they'd, they'll, 'tis, t'other, 'twould, what's, where's, and you'll.

One of the concerns anyone attempting to write with accuracy in a historical setting encounters is an idea that goes something like this: "Always remember that people spoke more formally back then. The current sloppiness of language is our generation's issue, and a blight on the genius of the English tongue." Or words to that effect. Casual speech is anathema. Even those who grudgingly admit that 'translating' the formal speech into more contemporary language makes a text more accessible to modern readers (and books are, after all, written to be read) will often have a particular hatred for contractions.

My findings on this topic could fill an essay, but in sum: _**This idea is totally false.**_ Even setting aside issues of class differences and local variation, very few if any even among the _upper_ classes would have gone around spouting perfect English literary grammar, and if they did they would have been considered a pompous oddity. (Rather like Mr. Collins.) Yes, grammar drift, like phonetic drift, happens, but it isn't nearly as distinct a change as we sometimes believe.

The reason we fall into this error is not because of language drift so much as _idea_ drift. A principle of writing, which any aspirant to that art today is indoctrinated in when dealing with dialog, is 'write as you speak'. (Which, by the by, is also totally false. If we _really_ wrote the way we talk dialog would be a complete mess.) It's pounded into us that reader immersion requires authenticity. And so when we go back and look at most texts from earlier centuries, especially fiction, we receive a false impression because until relatively recently the way people _spoke_ and the way they _wrote_ were considered **two entirely different tasks**.

Contractions are just one of the big misunderstandings. They aren't new. From Old English to Shakespeare, contractions were in common use. But beginning in the 1800's the lot of contractions in _formal_ writing (i.e.: anything of greater weight than a shopping list or quick note) became particularly dire. Personally, I suspect part of the reason contractions were so singled out is because, unlike many of the at times subtle 'rules' of formal language, contractions are easy to spot.

There is a _lot_ of misinformation on this topic, and many wax passionate in their certainty, however rightly or wrongly. It has become divisive. Its mere mention brings up a whole host of related issues at the heart of which is the chicken/egg argument of whether good English is English as it is taught in schoolbooks (but whose rules were often arbitrary or biased in their origin), or as it is actually spoken, permitting a more nuanced approach and acknowledging that English is a living language (but whose growing pains can make one cringe). It's enough to give any reasonable person a migraine, yet if one is attempting to write historically it can't be avoided. So how to balance _actual_ authenticity against _perceived_ authenticity? (By the by, we can thank/blame the Victorians for a lot of grammatical silliness and starch. Previous generations were far more comfortable with a loose approach to language.)

Obviously, since I just quoted Jane's own usage of these supposed literary taboos, in general contractions oughtn't (there's a fun one for you) be considered out of bounds. But aside from the amount of research it would require to know which contractions really _were_ in use and by whom, there's the problem of _real_ language drift. Some of these words, though authentic, would be jarring to the modern reader, others are either difficult to know at a glance their appropriate use (grammatically or in terms of character), or sound simply sloppy to our ears (not the impression one wants to leave of Mr. Darcy!). Then there's the occasional phonetic dissonance. As an example I will posit shan't (shall not), which though an entirely innocent contraction in own terms, is today just a little too close phonetically to an Unmentionable to use without an eye out for unintentional humor of the lowest end, ah, brow.

What's a poor scribbler to do?

My own tack is to attempt to use contractions when they're truly needed to improve the flow of the text and it doesn't contradict established character or destroy tone, but I _try_ to be miserly in the measuring. If you find any contractions that seem particularly jarring (and if you notice them at all beyond general historical sensitivity they may be so), please don't hesitate to let me know. Since my brother is trying to convince me to write this with an eye to publishing, I want to be as professional as possible.

(For an interesting article on this topic type into a search – DID ENGLISH SPEAKERS REALLY NOT USE CONTRACTIONS IN THE 19TH CENTURY AS DEPICTED IN TRUE GRIT?, Or for a quick insight into the origin of some of the sillier and more obscure grammar rules – WHAT THE VICTORIANS DID TO ENGLISH GRAMMAR)


	4. Reality Hurts

_Standard Disclaimer:_ I am not Jane Austen. I will never be Jane Austen. I can only hope she will eventually forgive me for playing with her toys.

 **Comment Response:** Responses have been removed to prevent their interference in story-flow. Just as a reminder, if you don't sign in you'll be an anonymous Guest and I can't respond to you through Private Messaging. (Same goes if you're set to disallow.)

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

Elizabeth woke to birdsong and Charlotte. For a blessed minute knowledge was absent from her mind and she was sleepily puzzled by Charlotte's presence in her bedroom. Then she noted the cursed letter in her friend's hands and memory returned.

"Oh," she said dully. "You found it."

Charlotte glanced down at the letter. "No," she replied in a carefully neutral tone. "As matter of fact, it was given to me by Mr. Darcy."

"Oh." This seemed odd, but it required some further thought before the reason was clear. "You returned early from Rosings? Was Lady Catherine displeased over something?"

Charlotte's response was a crisp, but not unkind, "I think before we discuss anything further you had best eat." She motioned to a platter set on the nightstand holding tea, toast, and a little fruit.

Elizabeth nodded and applied herself to the meal. When all but the last of the tea had been consumed and the cobwebs removed from her mind she looked up at her wonderful, practical friend with bitter-sweet gratitude.

"Thank you, Charlotte. You always seem to know just what is needed."

This seemed to make Charlotte strangely uneasy. "Do I? I wonder if you will continue to think so."

"Charlotte?" Elizabeth asked, puzzled.

Her friend set the tray to the side then took Elizabeth's hands in her own.

"Eliza," She said, "You have been my dearest friend these many years. I know that you have not always approved of or understood my decisions but you have always stood by me. There is something we must discuss now, something I know you will not want to hear. Please, I ask you now to hear me out, to listen to all I have to say. If when I am done you choose against my counsel I will never speak a word of reproach and will stand by you as you have me. But I ask you to hear me now."

Elizabeth nodded hesitantly, gut clenching. Charlotte began, her tone once again neutral and even.

"You asked if we returned early from Rosings. We did not. In fact we were quite late and I was considerably surprised to find Mr. Darcy here. He very politely begged the use of my parlor as a place for uninterrupted contemplation and I consented. He was here for most the night." This information surprised an exclamation from Elizabeth, but Charlotte pressed on.

"Around midnight I stopped to look in on my guest. He– Eliza, I have rarely seen such pain. He masked it quickly, but I felt obliged to offer what aid I could. That is when he gave me Kitty's letter. We talked. He knows of the extent of your circumstances, knows what you face. Eliza, he asked me if you might reconsider, if you might think him the lesser of evils."

Elizabeth shook her head wildly. "Charlotte, you don't know what he said! How could I possibly accept such a man? I would be crawling on my knees for scraps of his esteem the rest of my life! And you know my vow."

"I know your vow" Charlotte said. "And I know why you fear an unequal marriage, or any marriage that is not grounded in affection and respect. Your fears are not without foundation. However, I ask you, for a moment, to see past them. There are other dangers to consider, ones to more than yourself."

Elizabeth sucked in a breath.

"For your sisters' sakes, will you hear me?" Charlotte asked gently.

Bands of steel wrapped around Elizabeth's chest, stilling the air in her lungs, but she nodded. Charlotte spoke calmly then, and at length, of the future. She seemed to take great care not to exaggerate the ills the Bennet sisters faced, but neither did she diminish them, or spare any detail which would give weight to her words. Of the monotony, enforced humility, and sheer labor involved in a lifetime of employment there was much to elaborate. She painted no less eloquent a picture when speaking of the spinster's lot, of being a loved but unwanted burden, a nonentity without purpose in life; the contempt of a society without tolerance for perceived failure; and the pressure she would inevitably feel to accept a man, any man, regardless of his character, to relieve these pains. To all this she added the difficulty of escape from either existence, and the vulnerability to fate's caprice.

Opposed to this, and while acknowledging the dangers of matrimony, she laid out the contentment that could be found as mistress of one's own domain, the satisfaction in easing the lot of others (which would be no less Eliza's than hers, as the lady of a large estate), the refinement of her talents only possible for a woman with time to call her own, of quiet moments of peace found in smaller pleasures, and opportunities for the study of a wide and varied society available with the ability to travel.

The final defeat however came when Charlotte spoke of her fears for all the Bennet's safety, but most especially for Jane. Sheltered though Elizabeth was, her father had taught her too much of human folly to place much faith in human virtue, especially when the victim had been denied by law and custom of any means of redress. In the end, when the servant opened the door to inform Charlotte that the 'fine gentleman' was returned, Elizabeth was despairing, but resigned to her fate.

"Forgive me, Charlotte," Elizabeth begged, shamed by her own naiveté, "for any pain my judgement caused. I never truly understood what you faced."

"I never wanted you to understand. I prayed each day you _would_ find the marriage of equals you longed for. It did not seem so impossible that, with your wit and vivacity, you might attract to you just such a man. But time has run out, my dearest. You have a chance now for at least a little settled happiness, even if it is not that greater joy you desired. Will you not grasp it?"

Elizabeth took a deep breath and nodded, pushing down the silent wailing protests of her heart. "You may inform Mr. Darcy that, upon further consideration, I have seen the merits of his kind offer and will be down to discuss the matter shortly."

Charlotte's shoulders slumped with relief. She gripped Elizabeth's hand gently as she rose. "Thank you, Eliza, for hearing me. I will send Nancy to you immediately. Have her pack lightly, I can send the rest of your items straight to Longbourn. I would suggest you dress for travel, as you will wish to be away from Hunsford before Mr. Collins learns of this turn of fortune."

"Oh, goodness! I hadn't even considered– Once again, Charlotte, you are the embodiment of wisdom." Faced with this prospect Elizabeth sprang up from her bed, as though expecting the master of the house to burst in at any moment with his effusions. "I doubt I could withstand his sympathies at present without saying something truly nasty."

She halted in opening her closet door and turned haunted eyes to her friend. "Do you believe, given my nature and Mr. Darcy's, do you _truly_ believe I am doing the right thing?"

"Yes." Charlotte smiled reassuringly at Elizabeth. "Of material comforts you will want for nothing, and your gift for laughter will supply the rest. And whatever else he may be, I believe proud Mr. Darcy is also a man greatly concerned for your happiness. It will not be so ill a life."

0-0-0 0-0-0 0-0-0

Elizabeth paused a moment on the stairs, gathering her courage for the coming interview. What did one say to a man already once firmly, even violently, rejected? There were no social guidelines covering this precise event, and in her current state Elizabeth feared her errant tongue. Her sister's futures rested on her shoulders and she felt the weight of them. But neither a hundred minutes or a hundred years could be enough to prepare her for this meeting.

She forced her feet to move.

Mr. Darcy was standing, hands clasped behind him, looking out the parlor window as she approached the door. His expression revealed nothing of his thoughts. Was he still angry? Triumphant? Begrudging of the attraction which forced him once more to the breech?

He turned at her entrance, silent for a moment before inclining his head. "Miss Bennet."

"Mr. Darcy." Elizabeth replied. She indicated a chair and took her own seat. He did not follow suit, instead clearing his throat.

"I have arranged a carriage and chaperone to take you to your sister and on to Longbourn when you are ready. This is regardless of any decisions coming from this meeting."

She voiced gratitude for this generous gesture, concealing her surprise at the uncharacteristic consideration. A hush fell which neither seemed eager to break. Elizabeth attempted to swallow the lump lodged in her own throat, gave up, and forced herself to speak.

"I understand from Charlotte that you are willing to overlook my behavior last evening." She was faintly surprised her voice emerged merely hoarse, instead of croaking like a toad.

"Only if you will overlook my own. I realize my words could not have been more poorly, or painfully timed. Your response…was not without cause. We were not, I think, either of us at our best." His answer was subdued, and she nodded an acceptance of this olive branch. "Your time is necessarily limited by the press of events, so I will not try your patience long. Instead, I would say only this. I admire you immensely, Miss Bennet. Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?"

Elizabeth girded her courage about her. "Mr. Darcy, I have thought hard about this, and for the sake of my family I will accept your hand if you are determined in this course. But this is a step which once taken cannot be undone, and so I must ask. Your grounds of objection last eve can only be strengthened by these events. Though I am a gentleman's daughter, I am now an orphan and my remaining relations survive by trade or by the assumption of my father's estates. I can bring only a threadbare respectability to marriage, and a surfeit of dependent sisters. Furthermore, whatever your own feelings, you are now aware that my own affections are not engaged. By any worldly measure the advantages in this match are entirely to myself. I would not have a moment's compassion or generosity reward the both of us with a lifetime sentence. Can you truly be satisfied with such a partner?"

He was silent again, still studying her, his expression indecipherable. Elizabeth waited, heart in her throat, praying she had not mortally offended him. She could not begin to discern how he regarded her query. A problem, she reflected with a shadow of self-mocking humor, that was not likely to alter, given their precedent of miscommunications.

"I comprehend your concern," he said at last. "You may be assured however that I am not a man much given to impulse, especially in weighty matters. I would not have renewed my offer had I not been certain of the worth of the goal. Nor am I one to lay blame at another's door for my own choices. Whatever our future, you need never fear my reproach."

"Very well then, sir," she said, suddenly a little light headed. "We are engaged."

"Indeed."

Awkward stillness followed. The typically expected pleasure of such a moment contrasted painfully with the tangled emotions of both parties, making each hesitant of speech.

"I'm off to London shortly," Darcy said abruptly. "The business side of things, you understand."

"Yes, of course," Elizabeth murmured.

"It would be good to know to whom I must apply for your hand."

This inquiry caused tears to well up, but Elizabeth would not permit their fall. Darcy stepped toward her as she struggled for speech, reaching out, but at the shake of her head let his hand drop to his side.

"I believe it is my uncle Gardiner who receives the guardianship," she managed to say, and relayed the address. "But he and my aunt will no doubt accompany Jane and I home."

"Thank you." Darcy hesitated, then asked, "Miss Bennet, how may I best ease–"

"Don't!" she cried. Then, in a calmer tone, "Don't. If you are kind to me now I will shatter, and I cannot afford it. Please."

A shimmer of understanding moved in his eyes. "As you wish. We will meet again in Hertfordshire then. Fair travels, my lady." With this Darcy bowed and strode from the room.

From the window Elizabeth watched him mount his stallion. There was, she noted bleakly, something about a good rider on an excellent horse which could impart a noble air to the plainest of men. One such as Mr. Darcy became positively heroic. She turned away and tried to quell the persistent sensation of suffocation.

* * *

So, this is the plot bunny—not simply a marriage-of-convenience plot, but a question of what would it take for Darcy and Elizabeth to get together _after_ his disastrous first proposal, and _before_ Elizabeth learns to think better of him, and where do they go from there? Well, specifically it was the scene of the previous chapter, but the rest follows.

 _ **Notes from my research:**_ Another long one, but some topics can't be justly dealt with as in a single paragraph. I'm finding a lot of those.

 **On finances** — I knew, in a vague way, that much of the characters' interactions were dictated by relative finances and expectations. Certainly much is made of how 'brave' and principled Lizzy is, and of course Darcy is rich. But I wanted to get a better understanding of how the subtext of finances really affected things, so I did a little digging. I came away from it a bit shocked. I will deal with relative incomes of various characters later (too much info to load into one addendum), but for now here is the bottom line on Lizzy's and her sisters' prospects. I imagine many of you know these details already, but it can't hurt to have it laid out.

My resources give the absolute minimum household yearly wage for mere _**survival**_ as £20 per year. £25 was the lot of the 'laboring poor', the lowest an independent woman might expect, and was considered a 'very narrow' income. Forget about servants or _**any**_ luxuries.

Given Mrs. Bennet's ways I think it fair to wager her £4,000 lump sum inheritance is already spent. I am not certain, but with her death that sum may have been absorbed into the estate regardless. The remaining settlement of £5,000 is to be split between her five daughters upon her death. Invested in the 5% Government Bonds this would yield each a yearly income of £50, only a bit above double the minimum necessary survival wage. (Also known as the Funds, these were a favored way of handling a woman's inheritance – primarily for the stability. There were always other ways a woman's inheritance could be handled, investment schemes and such, but even when honest these had a high risk of going belly-up.) By way of contrast Caroline Bingley had a lump sum of £20,000 settled on her. Assuming she invested instead of spending it, she would have a yearly income of £1,000, without any additional support from Charles.

Lydia's support and habits, most likely taking after her mother's (and _without_ having to account for rent), cost Mr. Bennet **£90** a year. It's probably safe to say Lydia at least would not handle the transition well. Even if the other's successfully transition and economize they would most likely be finagled into making up for Lydia's excesses. If they did _not_ get a handle on living expenses in time their prospects would be far bleaker—possibly even the hedgerows of Mrs. Bennet's nightmares.

If the Bennet sisters lost their settlement funds they would be cast into a position of complete dependency upon their uncles. (Depending upon your interpretation of the canon text, this could be a severe hardship for the uncles.) They have no marketable skills except perhaps sowing. Lydia and Kitty are too young to be governesses or companions, even if they had the personalities for it; Mary who studied so hard for her accomplishments is now physically incapable; and Elizabeth and Jane… Well, there was a reason the ladies of households preferred their governesses, companions, and female servants be older and/or plain, which would make their finding employment difficult at best and dangerous at worst.

With the lack of financial training of many upper-class ladies (mere household management doesn't cover all the needed skills) it was not unusual for orphans and widows to lose what little they had through ignorance or the connivance of merchants and con-men, and become dependent on their relations' good will. If their relations have no good will, or if they have no relations (and without marketable skills), they could be forced into choice between starvation or a life of prostitution to survive. And this is _without_ the expense from my story of a double funeral and medical care for Mary.

Scary stuff. It's no wonder that Elizabeth would accept Darcy. The real wonder is that she _**dared**_ to refuse Mr. Collins! Looked at realistically Lizzy is incredibly naïve and impractical, so much so that were I a gentleman I might think twice about marrying such a silly woman.

Overall, Austen treated the matter of finances with astonishing lightness in _Pride and Prejudice_. Most likely for the same reasons romance authors since her have done the same. We often read romances in large part for a fantasy, a dream. The introduction of _too_ much reality can destroy the illusion. We can take Lizzy at face value, and think kindly on Mr. Bennet, only because Austen chose not to confront Lizzy with the true evils of her situation.

(My calculations here are for the 5%'s, which is the benchmark Austen's characters use, but I have found there were for 2% through 6% Funds as well. It all depended on what options the government was offering at the time.)


	5. An Unexpected Pixie

_Standard Disclaimer:_ I am not Jane Austen. I will never be Jane Austen. I can only hope she will eventually forgive me for playing with her toys.

 **Comment Response:** I have been advised to limit my responses outside of PM (understandable, they were getting rather lengthy), so unless enough people have a question or point that needs addressing that can't be handled otherwise then I will be sitting quietly in my corner over here. Just as a reminder, if you don't sign in you'll be an anonymous Guest and I can't respond to you through Private Messaging. (Same goes if you're set to disallow.)

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

How Charlotte distracted Mr. Collins that morning, Elizabeth would never learn, but she was quite grateful for the absence of the master of the house when a coach-and-four arrived. A handful of dresses and other necessities had been packed into her smallest trunk. This was immediately loaded onto the vehicle while in the parlor Elizabeth and Charlotte said their farewells. Of grief and condolence both were now silent. Their friendship, though recently strained by Charlotte's marriage, was now fully healed and of a depth as to make social formalities on such topics unnecessary and there was insufficient time for more. After exchanging a tender embrace and a speaking glance they walked, arm in arm, out toward the coach.

"Jane is not wholly wrong, you realize." Charlotte said suddenly. Elizabeth stopped on the entry path, looking enquiringly at her friend. Charlotte halted as well, turning partially back to see her. "There _are_ times it is best to search for the good in others. I am not saying one ought to blind oneself to genuine evil or folly. But it is true that what we choose to focus on most often defines our view of others and our relations with them. And–" Charlotte glanced into the distance, where her husband was puttering around the beehives. "Some good can be found even in the most unexpected of objects."

"I don't doubt this is true, but why do you say this to me now?" Elizabeth asked, puzzled.

"It has simply occurred to me that given your talent for happiness you may have never needed to learn how to reach for it. And you have now bound your happiness in harness to another. He is not perfect but neither, my dearest, are you. We all do things, even terrible things, we later regret and mourn. It would be tragic if we were all forever defined by our worst moments, our worst traits, if we were never allowed to repent or make amends. Would _you_ wish your virtues to never be acknowledged? _Your_ triumphs to be forever shadowed by your failures?" Charlotte turned fully to face her friend, clasping Elizabeth's shoulders. "Give Mr. Darcy a chance, Eliza. You may be justified in your assessment of him or you may not. But if you close your mind to the possibility of good in him you also close off a possible avenue to happiness. And above all, I would see you happy."

Elizabeth ducked her head at this gentle reproof. "Very well, Charlotte, I will try."

They shared one final sad embrace before Elizabeth continued alone to the coach. One of the guards held open a door and she was stepping inside when she froze.

"Miss de Bourgh!" For a moment all Elizabeth could think was that a humiliating mistake had been made and how was she to explain?

"Step lively, Miss Bennet. The day does not wait for us." Anne's voice was soft but firm. Galvanized to movement, Elizabeth found herself sitting across from the young lady and an older woman with that unmistakable stamp of one caught between the status of servant and gentry. "Is everything loaded, Randall? Then let us away."

"Yes, Miss." The door closed.

"Wait! I think there has been some error–" Elizabeth said, starting to panic a little.

Anne shook her head. "There is no error. When I heard Mr. Darcy arranging your transport to London I asked if I might tag along. He did not think you would mind. Was he wrong?" This question was asked with a hesitant concern.

"No, of course not," Elizabeth immediately soothed. "It was simply unexpected. But, you _are_ aware that I am bound for Gracechurch Street and then to Hertfordshire?"

"Yes. Oh! I do not mean to accompany you on your full journey. Once in London I am to join my aunt, Colonel Fitzwilliam's mother. You will be dropped off with your relations, then I at mine, then the coach will return for your use."

"I see."

Miss de Bourgh introduced her companion, a Mrs. Frenton, and Elizabeth allowed years of social training to take over while her mind grappled with the sudden recollection of Mr. Darcy's reported engagement to the young woman seated opposite her. Surely not. Surely, even _Mr. Darcy_ could not be so callous as to force together in company a woman grieving but triumphant in his affections and a now jilted former intended. There must be an error of some nature involved. The contemplation of just how one might delicately explore the matter occupied the portion of her mind not engaged in conversation, until she became distracted by the glances Anne repeatedly, and seemingly involuntarily, cast at the road behind them. An inquiry if Anne experienced travel sickness was answered in the negative. Elizabeth made her own survey and found the road empty.

"Miss de Bourgh, is something amiss?" Elizabeth questioned the girl (for she could not help but think of her as such, with her tiny frame and soft voice). Anne seemed puzzled by this and responded that, so far as she knew, all was well and why did she ask?

"It is merely that you keep searching the road behind us. Mr. Darcy has well equipped us with protectors if it is highwaymen you fear."

"No, it is not that." Anne looked down and seemed to be waging an inner conflict. "Miss Bennet, may I ask what your parents are like? Please feel no obligation to answer if you feel my question impertinent. But if not, I should like to know."

The innocence with which the question was asked made clear Anne's ignorance of current circumstances and Elizabeth found herself answering calmly. She spoke briefly and without reference to her parent's passing of her father's humor, his lively mind, and love of his quiet study. Her mother's sociability and love of fashion were safe enough topics. Anne listened with a wistful air to this recital.

"There is affection between you then." Anne said with a small smile.

"More between my father and I, but yes, I suppose so." Elizabeth recalled, somewhat ashamedly, that for all the distance between her mother and her less favored children there had been no _intentional_ cruelty and much desire for their good.

"I am pleased for your sake." Anne seemed to choose her following words with care. "You are acquainted with my mother and the…formidableness of her personality. She is not one to brook disagreement lightly. It was recently made clear to me that on one point in particular she will never be moved, despite possible repercussions." She gave a soft sigh. "Much though I fear my mother's displeasure, I cannot give way in this matter. Removal from Rosings at this time is the only expedient course. I am, at last, of age, and my aunt long ago promised me sanctuary should I so choose."

Mrs. Frenton muttered, not so softly, "And about time you did so too, if you ask me."

Anne frowned at her companion then gave another soft sigh, this one full of unhappiness.

"Perhaps you are right." She turned back to Elizabeth. "My relations have been urging me to this point for some years. I did not realize till this morning that they had also planned my escape. Your need coincided most fortuitously with my own. William has gone ahead to alert my aunt, and Richard has very gallantly remained behind to delay the storm and send my possessions on. Despite the unexpectedness of my decision they have responded with a dizzying swiftness. I confess, I am _still_ reeling a little. I have this irrational notion I cannot shake that we will be set upon by lawmen intent on dragging me back to Rosings."

Surprise, both at so many words from one from whom she had come to expect only silence and at the frankness of this revelation, left Elizabeth blinking and uncertain of response. Anne suddenly laughed, a tinkling pixie, then sobered.

"I have unsettled you, Miss Bennet. For that I apologize. Please believe I would not have spoken so openly except that my cousins admire you so, William especially, and I wanted you to know of their goodness."

"You do not object?" Elizabeth asked tentatively, and wondered just _how_ blind she had been these many months.

"Object? To what? Oh, I see. My mother has not given you the best impression of us. We are not _all_ so concerned with station and finance. My aunt Julianna had the fortune of a great love match, and she claims to value that relationship above any riches, or even above chocolate! And my namesake, Lady Anne, knew William's father for many years, and he chose her for that friendship, even though their fortunes were not at all similar at the time. By all accounts their marriage was a great success. Uncle Avery can be a bit of a stickler, but he is warm enough, given a chance." Here Anne paused to consider, after which her words became a tumbling waterfall.

"If that sort of thing troubles you then Richard would be the better choice, I grant you, but there is always Napoleon to worry about. It is hard to have conversations with a dead man and Richard's best feature _is_ his conversation. Not that he is painful to look at but truth is truth. William does not talk as much but he is glorious when he smiles. As an officer's wife you would travel a great deal and William is hard to pry out of Pemberly, save for love or duty, but as a country lass you might prefer that yourself. They are both of excellent character so that is no concern. William sings better but Richard dances better. No, that is not correct. William dances beautifully but he has no love for it and Richard does and that makes a great difference in the experience. Both Richard and William despise gambling on principle, so no help there. Richard is more outwardly amiable but William more patient. Richard is the more horse-mad but William has more funds to indulge it. William seems to value excellence of achievement more but I think that may be because he's been raising Georgiana, not a personal taste. Richard converses more easily of current events but William speaks better in philosophy and debate. Richard–"

Elizabeth's astonished laughter interrupted the tumult. "Miss de Bourgh, you speak as though they are a pair of ribbons I have but to pluck. I am sure they would wish some say in their partner."

Anne blushed red and looked down. "I am sorry. It is just that they _do_ admire you so. And they have been so good to me, for so long, I want to see them happy before– in case–" She stopped.

"Is your health truly so unwell?" Elizabeth asked with gentle concern. Guilt surged for her earlier satisfaction, when her only thought had been seeing Mr. Darcy gain his just deserts. She'd had no thought for Miss de Bourgh herself.

"I do not know, Miss Bennet. I truly don't. I dream of a love, of a child at my breast, and grandchildren at my feet. But for so long now it has seemed an impossible dream, and I hardly dare to hope." Anne cast her gaze to the coach window, out into the distance, seeking answers. Whatever she saw was distressing indeed, and Elizabeth sought a way to turn her thoughts.

"You have been very open with me. Having come so far, and having seen your esteem for them, may I venture to ask, is your own heart at all attached?"

Anne turned from the window, startled. "Attached? To my cousins?" She wrinkled her nose. "No. The very idea– No. I do indeed love and esteem them, but I also in some measure grew up with them. They will never entirely lose their status as annoying clods who put frogs in my shoes and crickets in my nightstand. It would make my mother ecstatic, mind you, she has been after William for years, despite both of our denials. I doubt she will cease until one of us is either married or dead."

A puff of relief escaped despite Elizabeth's efforts and Anne's eyes went wide. Elizabeth explained rather unsteadily, "I had heard something about an engagement, and was uncertain how to inquire."

"Mother," Anne said with disgust. "I may be doing her an injustice, but I do not recall hearing anything about a cradle bargain before Lady Anne died, and too much of it since. Even if it is true neither of us wish it or have consented to it."

"That is very good to hear."

"Is it? Does this mean you have an interest in William?" Anne's expression was bright and eager.

Elizabeth spoke cautiously. "You could say I have an interest."

At the dawning hope in Anne's gaze, Elizabeth's heart opened. Whatever the truth of Mr. Darcy, Anne loved him and wished him a felicity she might not live to see. If anyone could show Elizabeth Charlotte's 'possibility of good' perhaps it was this child-woman in front of her. Elizabeth said quietly, "Mr. Darcy proposed this morning and I accepted."

"Oh." Anne said. Joyful tears rose, and she covered her mouth with her fingers. "It is true? You are truly engaged?"

"Yes, Miss de Bourgh, it is true."

Elizabeth was startled when Anne lunged forward to grip her tightly in a hug, exclaiming her gratitude and joy. She returned the embrace silently till the girl released her and retreated to her seat, assuring Mrs. Frenton that, yes, she was quite well, just a little overwhelmed. Anne studied Elizabeth then, noting her silence and began to be troubled.

"Miss Bennet, happy though you have made me, you yourself do not seem…" she trailed off.

"It is difficult, partly because, well–" Elizabeth looked down at her hands and, taking a deep breath, explained the purpose of her journey to London and home. Anne and Mrs. Frenton were shocked and grieved, offering every proper compassion and remorse. These Elizabeth accepted graciously, again pushed back her sorrow and, clearing her throat of tears, returned to the previous subject.

"The other reason is more complicated. I fear I did not receive a good initial impression of your William. Since then I have heard such different accounts, and seen such different actions, as to make it impossible to assemble into a clear image. My own judgement in the matter, I have realized, is at best flawed, but I fear for our life together."

This revelation was met with growing horror by Anne, who could not prevent her cry, "Then why did you accept him?"

"For my sisters," Elizabeth said simply. "With my parent's deaths our situation has become fairly desperate. I believe I could weather the change tolerably well, but not all of my sisters could, and if Mary lives she will likely require near constant care and certainly medical attention. That will be difficult to obtain without sufficient income."

Mrs. Frenton nodded her understanding, compassion causing her to reach forward and grip Elizabeth's hand in support. Anne however continued to look at her with dismay. Elizabeth searched for words to ease her fears, guilt pooling within her stomach.

"Before you judge me too ill, Miss de Bourgh, understand that Mr. Darcy knew in full of both my circumstances and my reservations before offering for me, and chose to do so regardless. I did not deceive him in any way. Nor am I intent on offering him a cold, mercenary marriage. My friend Charlotte would tell you that I have a talent for happiness, and that alone must forbid such an outcome, given even a modicum of encouragement from my husband."

Silence settled heavily between them and Elizabeth felt the tears she had been successfully suppressing rise and spill down her cheeks.

"Please, Miss de Bourgh, I am not so very different from you. Until this event, I too dreamed of love. I swore I would never marry without it. And were it for myself alone I still would not, foolish and improvident though that may be. But it is _not_ for myself. Can you not find it within you to forgive? Can you, who cherish your William so, not help me again to hope for happiness with the man to whom I am bound?"

Her plea, she realized, was directed not simply to Miss de Bourgh, but also to the unhearing, uncaring Fates for whom a simple mortal's woes were a matter of supreme indifference. But Miss de Bourgh was as silent as the Fates and Elizabeth turned away, struggling to restrain her tears.

"It is strange," she heard Anne say after a time, her voice subdued, "after telling myself so firmly only this rising that I am no longer a child and ought not be treated as one, to be confronted with such direct proof that I have a great deal of growing yet to do."

A small hand touched Elizabeth's shoulder and turned her gently. Anne looked at her with sad eyes. "It is I who must beg forgiveness, Miss Bennet. I had no right to judge you. We are to be family now. How may I best aid you?"

This kindness was almost her undoing, but Elizabeth fought and mastered her pain, and sealed it firmly behind walls of control. Brushing at her cheeks, she summoned a shaky smile. "Please, if you could tell me of the William _you_ know. I want to know the man I am to marry. Did he–did he really plague you with frogs and crickets?" She was answered with a small, encouraging smile in turn.

"Actually," Anne began, "the frogs were Richard's doing. William _was_ , however, responsible for the crickets, and it nearly got him banned from Rosings. There were times my mother swore the two combined to recreate the biblical plagues. I've been told the maids dreaded their laundry because they never knew what creeping, crawling or hopping thing would come from their pockets. They were always coming home with clothes torn, or drenched with mud, or bruised and bleeding, or all three. Even when they should have been old enough to know better. And they always seemed to be conspiring to some mischief. There was the time they somehow, they refuse to tell me how, _somehow_ dragged a donkey dressed in the parson's clothes up to the choir loft before church one Sunday."

Taking in Elizabeth's horrified expression Anne laughed.

"Oh, do not be alarmed. Perhaps, having been blessed with only sisters, you are not accustomed to the high spirits of our counterparts. It was, admittedly, disrespectful; but the previous parson was such a disgrace to the calling as to make Mr. Collins seem a positive saint by comparison, and they confessed to the deed when poor Tommy was set to take the blame. They _never_ let anyone suffer in their place, nor descended into true cruelty, for all their devilment. And whenever I or anyone was truly upset by something, they apologized most humbly and sincerely, and did their best to make amends which is more than I hear is common for the young male of the species. I think they both regarded Rosings as a reprieve from the tedium and discipline of study and acted accordingly. At least–" Here Anne faltered. "At least they did until Uncle Darcy died."

She frowned and continued quietly. "Uncle Darcy's passing changed everything really, everything and nothing. My cousins are still as loyal and virtuous and passionate as ever. But William rarely smiles now, and Richard retreats behind that amiable facade, and doesn't let anyone see the reality beneath." She fell into contemplation for a moment before shaking her head and smiling. "But I have told you mainly of their faults. Let me speak of their virtues."

For the rest of the journey Elizabeth would hear with wonder of a timid pixie queen and her two loyal knight protectors.

* * *

 **Notes From My Research:**

 **How rich were they? Prelude** — As I said before, I knew, in vague way, that much of the behavior of the book was influenced by finances. But it wasn't till I looked into it that I realized _how much_ of an impact it had! This was a time of great disparity between the classes, so a fairly successful individual of one class would be considered a pauper by the rung above.

I've noticed that a lot of resources I've found lump Regency/Georgian in with Victorian. While this is fine with other topics, I feel this is unintentionally deceptive when it comes to finances. P&P was published in 1813, and presumably written the earlier year. Even assuming that Austen was precisely aware of all economic conditions of the time (unlikely as it was a time of rapid change and information was not so easily obtained as it is today), 1812 was the middle of the industrial revolution, ending around 1840. Victoria reigned 1837–1901, a time when the Industrial Revolution had already altered the financial and social landscape. Additionally, though finances form the backbone of P&P, Austen was not setting out to write a treatise on contemporary socioeconomic conditions. She was writing a _story_ , and thus depending on her reader's knowledge and attitudes to finances, attitudes that would have been formed in the previous years or even decades.

Most of the novel is set in rural Hertfordshire, most specifically in an area where we are given the impression of a very small and limited society. Nothing in the text indicates that this area has seen much if any recent financial growth. A final quote for you, from an academic article I found, to give a glimpse of the turmoil occurring outside Austen's pages.

"For the next two decades, Britain was engaged almost without cease in the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars of 1793–1815, one of the most significant conflicts in British history. Among the effects of England's foreign wars during this period were great financial instability and monetary volatility. … Austen would have witnessed, moreover, the beginning of industrialization in England, though the growth of the factory system would not reach its peak until the middle of the nineteenth century. Outside of the genteel world we see in Pride and Prejudice, a **third** of the country's population lived on the **verge of starvation** , spurring food riots across the countryside. This unrest was compounded by Luddite protestors who attacked new industrial machinery (a practice called "machine breaking") in demonstrations that were a precursor to labor strikes. As these demonstrations spread fear of a revolution in England, the government responded with repressive measures that sharply curtailed freedom of speech." (Emphasis added by me.)

\- From _Historical Context for Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen_ written by Lucy Sheehan (Department of English  & Comparative Literature, Columbia College)


	6. Bad Day

_Standard Disclaimer:_ I am not Jane Austen. I would love to meet her, but I don't own her works. This fiction is no more than tribute to a beloved tale.

 **Comment Response:** I have been advised to limit my responses outside PM (which is understandable, they were getting rather long). Unless enough people have a question or point in need of addressing that **can't** be handled through private messaging, I'll just be sitting quietly in my corner here. (Boy, that duct-tape's uncomfortable.) So, if you want a response, make certain you're logged in and PM enabled.

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

Mr. Darcy glared in wordless affront at this _shopkeeper_ who was attempting to politely dismiss him. He had ridden to London with all speed, changing horses along the road, and was facing another bruising ride of somewhat greater length. He'd obtained little rest for several nights running. The meal he'd forced himself to consume this morning was long vanished. There were several tasks to attend to, all of which had to be completed in a severely limited time-frame. And now this– this– cheapside vendor was attempting to dodge him!

"Sir," he finally snapped, ignoring the presence of other customers in the lobby. "I come bearing news of your niece. Now will you see me or no?"

Mr. Gardiner went pale. Realizing the likely interpretation the man put on his words, Darcy cursed his fatigue driven temper and hurried to correct the impression, forcing himself to speak lower and more calmly than before.

"This is not news from Longbourn, but Hunsford. I know of no change in Miss Mary's condition. Please, might we speak in some degree of privacy?"

Mr. Gardiner hastily consented, leading him through the private halls of the establishment to his office. He shut the door and, ignoring Darcy's travel-stained appearance, motioned him to an upholstered chair.

"My sincerest apologies, sir," Mr. Gardiner said, taking his own seat. "I have been attempting to arrange my business affairs all morning to be able to travel, but have encountered delay after delay. I'm afraid I believed you yet another. Still, I ought to have acted better."

Darcy waved this away. "It is of no moment. I am more concerned with seeing to this matter with speed, than attending to incidental affronts."

"Indeed, sir." Grief shrouded the man, but he looked at Darcy with a puzzled air. "How do you come to be involved, if I may ask?"

A brisk and much edited summary of events followed. The news of the engagement naturally came as a stunning shock, resulting in a sharp examination of Darcy's apparel. Mr. Gardiner traded in textiles, and from the man's expression the engagement appeared sheerest nonsense when combined with his judgement of Darcy's station; a justified reaction, Darcy knew, but one that did not bode well for the future.

"So, you are here to officially ask for her hand?" Mr. Gardiner asked, a certain skepticism clinging to his tone. "Don't you think the timing a trifle indelicate?"

"Certainly your blessing must be obtained soon." Darcy said with impatience. "At present however, my concern is the relief of the Bennets from their most pressing financial afflictions. Miss Catherine's letter to Miss Elizabeth made it clear they are already being hounded by those whose avarice outruns their compassion or good conduct. My resources are greater than your own at this time in both finance and mobility. I ask that I be allowed to see to their respite with all possible haste. If you are uncomfortable with others seeing this done by one to whom you have not yet given approval, I will gladly see it done in your name, acting to all appearances as your agent."

Mr. Gardiner's countenance transitioned through successive emotions, none remaining long enough to discern their meaning. But Darcy had an impression that he'd upset the man.

 _The matter is simple enough. Though it is infuriating that intervention is needed at all, I suppose. To know humanity is capable of such blatant greed and cruelty is revolting, but it is no great difficulty dispatch_.

"Your offer is noted, Mr. Darcy, but your assistance will not be required." Mr. Gardiner's response was icy.

Darcy frowned. "I do not see how it can _not_ be. You said yourself that you must see to your business and there is–"

"Mr. Darcy, my means may be more limited than your own, but I am _quite_ capable of seeing to my family responsibilities. Your assistance is _unnecessary_."

This raised incredulous brows. A quick glance around the furnishings of the office brought no alteration in Darcy's assessment of Mr. Gardiner's resources. The glance, however, proved a tactical error for the tradesman was now turning a shade of red.

"Don't be foolish, man. Pride is well and good but–"

… _your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others…_

Darcy stilled. Closing his eyes, he fought down his frustration. This man, whatever his vocation, was Elizabeth's uncle and guardian. For that alone he deserved Darcy's respect. More, if Darcy mortally offended him, he just might overcome the attractions of the Darcy fortune and refuse Elizabeth's hand, thus denying the Bennets of aid they desperately needed. He took a deep breath and looked again at Mr. Gardiner. Occasionally unobservant Darcy might be, but even to him it was clear the man was on the verge of throwing him out of the office.

"Sir," he began carefully, "it is my turn to present an apology. This seems to be my day for them. I know I am not handling this well. Despite my poor manners, please believe it is not my intent to displace you from your duties, or presume on status for authority to intrude on your family's private affairs. I am a man perhaps too much accustomed to making plans and acting on them without need to consult with the desires of others. This has, I fear, led to my officious behavior just now. I ask your pardon."

Gardiner's lips were clamped tight, but his anger subsided by successive degrees, till at last he gave a short nod.

Darcy hastened to capitalize on this acceptance. "My concern for Miss Elizabeth and her sisters is genuine. I am well aware that Miss Elizabeth would not have chosen to accept my suit at this 'indelicate' time if her family's needs were not urgent. That knowledge places a certain obligation on my shoulders, and I am attempting, however badly, to fulfill it."

Mr. Gardiner gave him a long, appraising survey and sighed expressively. If there was no real friendliness in his demeanor now, there was at least some measure of sympathy. "Apology accepted, sir. Can _you_ understand my hesitation in accepting your aid before knowing anything of your character?"

After pausing a moment in consideration Darcy asked, "You fear entrapment? That should you decide against me, or discover I am not what I seem, I will cry foul, citing monies spent on the Bennet's behalf? That I may be attempting to buy Miss Elizabeth?"

"In essence, yes."

"It is difficult to know how to ease your concern, sir. There is no time to bring witnesses on my behalf, and if you do not trust my word, you would have little reason to trust theirs."

"Agreed." Mr. Gardiner sat back in his chair. He steepled his hands, tapping the index fingers against his lips, and giving the issue some thought. After a time he nodded decisively. "I am going to take a chance and trust you, Mr. Darcy. As you say, the need is urgent."

Darcy indicated agreement. "My own idea was to establish a temporary line of credit with my bank to deal with the funeral expenses, and to withdraw sufficient funds to take with me to Longbourn to deal with the more urgent creditors. Should you wish to discuss repayment after your own arrival when things are more settled, that is of course your prerogative. As I said, I care not to whom acknowledgment is given, and will gladly act as your agent. Does any of this meet with your approval?"

"It seems sensible enough." A judicious tap. "And I will take you up on the offer to be my agent. No offense intended to yourself, sir, but the situation does warrant caution."

"Agreed," Darcy said, then halted. "Ah, I should perhaps mention that, not knowing what medical resources are available in the area of Longbourn, I requested that my Aunt Fitzwilliam locate and send on one Dr. Sherman. He is highly skilled and something of a specialist in back injuries. I'm acquainted with him from when a good friend took a fall during a hunt. I am uncertain as to his fees." He regarded Mr. Gardiner warily. "I do not wish to repeat my offense, sir, but given his foreknowledge of a connection to my own family, they are likely to be quite high. It is how he supplies his more charitable work."

Mr. Gardiner's lips quirked in a small smile. "You _do_ like to get things moving. And you now think I will take umbrage out of inability to pay him? Well, I do, sir. But…not so much that I will deny Mary any possible care. If you wish to mend your error by handling his bill, I will consent to it."

Darcy's shoulders eased somewhat. It appeared Elizabeth's uncle, despite his touchy pride, was not unreasonable. "Are you able to go with me to the bank just now?" He asked.

"That much time I believe I can squeeze out of the chaos. If you would grant me a minute, sir?" Mr. Gardiner said, standing.

Nodding, Darcy's own thoughts raced ahead. He would need to send a message to his secretary to meet him there and start the process of assembling the necessary documents for the marriage. And there was Charles to deal with. Even given the younger man's general affability that did not promise to be a comfortable interview.

0-0-0 0-0-0 0-0-0

Charles Bingly was seated before the fireplace of a private room in his club, jacket doffed, a small repast at his hand, and a book lying open and forgotten in his lap. The withdrawal was rare, he preferred company far more often than not, yet even the most social of men could be driven to seeking solitude. Driven he had been. Few who did not know him well would have noted the recent and protracted dip in his spirits. His was a sunny and open countenance that concealed its sorrows not by intent but by truth, his genuine enjoyment of present circumstances overshadowing his heart's cares. But there were those who could observe a certain quiet in his voice, an occasional distance in his eyes, or solemnity in his manner and discern that all was not well with him. It was unfortunate perhaps in this instance that Caroline Bingly was among them.

Both his closest friend and his closest sister knew the source of his sorrow. But where the one had provided a sympathetic if silent support and sought to distract him with London's novelties, the other had embarked on an increasingly frantic goal of replacement. He liked the female of the species, yes, and enjoyed their conversation perhaps more than most. But he did _not_ like having one hopeful debutante after another conveniently trotted out for his inspection. Not only was it unfair to himself, and even more so to the girls and their parents, it was insulting!

Did Caroline really think him such a fair-weather cockerel that it would require no more than a new pretty bauble to turn him from his angel? He had spoken openly of the depth of his feelings to his friend and sisters. That those feelings were not returned was his misfortune, but this did not deny his sincerity or diminish the strength of his devotion. To have Caroline behave as if his were no more than a springtime infatuation was both painful and infuriating. He would have to discuss the matter with her, make clear his position, and soon. But it would have to wait until he could find a moment when their lodgings were _not_ overrun by lilac and lace or by impending dinner parties and outings. His sister could be frustratingly elusive when she chose.

Which was how he found himself hiding, like a henpecked husband, in that final bastion of male security and peace; torn between rueful laughter at his own cowardice and homicide.

A brisk knock on the door requested entry and Charles gave welcome without turning to see who it was.

"A book? I would worry for your health had you passed the third page."

"Darcy!" Charles looked up, surprised to see his proper friend still wearing his outer coat, gloves and hat in hand. "I thought you gone to relatives for at least another fortnight. Come, sit, you look chilled to the bone." It was a good thing, he reflected, that the club's furnishings were crafted to withstand a measure of abuse. His friend looked to be carrying half of England's dust on him. Darcy sank tiredly into the chair as Charles bent forward to stir up the fire.

"I'll not disturb you for long. I've made two stops already and have another I must see to before taking to the road again."

"Good grief. Why such urgency?"

Darcy looked at him with troubled eyes. "I have an apology to make, Charles, and when I am done you may well be glad to see my backside."

"An apology! From the great Master of Pemberley himself? Say rather I shall put the thing in a cabinet on display, for it must surely be a wonder of the world."

"I have never claimed to be incapable of error or wrong," Darcy said irritably.

"No, it is simply that you so rarely are," Charles smiled whimsically, then held up a hand. "Peace, peace, I'll still my tongue."

He watched curiously as Darcy leaned forward, distractedly toying with his hat and obviously uncertain how to begin. At last Darcy shook his head. "I know of no way to say this but straight out. Miss Jane Bennet has been in London these three months past, and both I and your sister chose to conceal this from you."

Charles smile slipped and after a pause Darcy continued.

"My interference was both arrogant and impertinent and I will not defend it. It was wrong of me, and I knew it. The only mitigation is that it stemmed from genuine concern, but that does not excuse my behavior, only explain it. I am sorry, Charles."

After a time Charles spoke with brittle deliberation. "And what has Miss Bennet been told? That I have no interest in her? That I was content to make her a holiday amusement but the holiday is ended? That I cannot even be bothered to extend common courtesy now that I am, what, returned to my peers?"

Darcy shrugged uneasily. "I have not seen or spoken with the lady myself. For that you must apply to your sister. But the logic follows that she must have been discouraged in some way."

Charles closed his eyes in sudden pain. _What did you say to her Caroline? I know how your blade of a tongue cuts when threatened._

He rose abruptly, setting the book aside, and strode to the window. Anger was a foreign and unwelcome visitor as he stared down into the busy street. "I have always known I was not your equal in standing or intellect, Darcy. But I never realized before that you think me a weak-minded fool."

"I do not," Darcy said sharply. His voice lowered then, softened by some unnamed emotion. "I do not. Or if I do, I placed myself in that company long before you."

"What?" Charles glanced back blankly at his friend, then narrowed his eyes. "Why are you telling me about this now?"

They were interrupted by the opening of the door, and one of the club's porters stepped in.

"The materials you requested, sir."

"A moment, Charles." Darcy took the writing tray. "I must send a note to Georgiana."

Acquainted as he was with Darcy's normal missives, Charles was surprised when the letter took no more than the moment requested. The note and tray were handed back to the porter with instructions to post immediately. Alone again, Darcy looked steadily at Charles.

"I am telling you this now because events have both made it necessary and rendered my interference absurdly hypocritical. I am now engaged to Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

If Darcy had stripped naked, painted himself Pictish blue, and started dancing the hornpipe while blithely insulting the entire House of Lords Charles could not have been more shocked. His first thought, once coherent thought returned, was–

"Impossible! She despises you!"

Darcy winced. "Not enough to– What? How are you aware of her opinion?" he asked, startled.

"Oh come on, man. She needled you at almost every encounter at Netherfield. Her manners are too good to be outright rude, but she certainly took pleasure in challenging you. I think she only found you abrasive at first. But _something_ had changed by the ball. And given what Jane so carefully did _not_ say in making her inquiries—well, you were not there for that conversation. But surely you were aware!"

"No," Darcy replied grimly, "I was not. Not then."

Charles stared. Past experience had informed him that his clever friend was not always the most socially adroit of men. Capable of giving a blistering set down with but a few words, yes. Steeped in the nuances of rank and status, yes. Superbly competent when dealing with those within his known sphere, yes. But Darcy on unfamiliar ground had been known to stumble, sometimes painfully. Still, Charles would have sworn… And now he was _engaged_ to Miss Elizabeth?

"Damnation, Darcy, what happened!?"

A heavy sigh escaped his friend. When Darcy spoke it was with the air of a man duty-bound to say rather more than he wished. "It was not your interests alone that were engaged in Hertfordshire. Miss Elizabeth is a rare jewel, and even a fool such as myself was bound to see it. But she does not come unencumbered. Every argument I gave you concerning her sister's situation I had first rehearsed to myself in multiplicity. When I left for London it was with the firm resolve to cast her from my thoughts. I could not. Still, family duty must trump personal whims and I had every good intention. But then duty sent me to Rosings and I discovered Elizabeth there. You recall Mr. Collins?"

"Hard to forget," Charles said dryly. Darcy…attracted to Miss Elizabeth? Charles had suspected some admiration. He knew Darcy was often put off by the sycophancy his status attracted, and others could be intimidated by his manner. It was rare that anyone not in his intimate circle dared to challenge him. Elizabeth had dared. That alone would have earned her a degree of respect. But interest?

"His new bride is the former Charlotte Lucas. Miss Elizabeth was there visiting her friend and, as there are a limited number residing near Rosing of a status to share company with my Aunt, I could not escape the association. Nor, to be fair, did I try very hard. I took too much pleasure in her company to deny myself. I… I chanced upon her just after she had received a terrible shock. A letter from home. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet are no longer in this world, taken by a carriage accident. Two of her younger sisters were also injured, one grievously so. Their finances are not good. After much struggle I found that I could not turn away. I proposed this morning and she accepted, despite her reservations."

There was more to this tale, of that Charles was certain. Darcy's narrative had been shadowed by an unvoiced pain, and he was well acquainted with his friend's reserve. But Charles mind was caught by other concerns. His tender angel, what she must be suffering at this moment, what fears she must have for the future. He longed to spring to her side. But he _could_ _not_ because his friend and sister had seen fit to guard him from the gentlest, kindest, most well-meaning soul in existence!

A fist thudded into the wall beside the window. Rage had always been a rather abstract word to Charles. He discovered to his astonishment that he now comprehended it fully.

"You hypocrite! You bloody, bloody hypocrite! After all your arguments and insults regarding trade relations and want of propriety and relative status and ladder climbing clingers, you turn around and– By all that's holy, I swear were you not my friend–" A vision of pistols at dawn temporarily clouded his brain. Charles looked away, running furious fingers through his hair, and attempted to think past the haze of emotion.

If he'd had those three months could he have spared her this? Certainly the accident would not have been in his power to alter, but during her time in London he might have courted her without the pressures of a gossiping community or ambitious mother. In that time he might have won her heart, been able to at least assure her of her future. Now? She did not love him; to show up on her doorstep now, as a mere acquaintance, to offer her his aid would be unbearably offensive and only add to her distress. Worse would be if she, in this moment of vulnerability, turned to him; only to later find herself in an unwanted position of expectations.

"There is a great difference, Charles," Darcy said wearily, "Between marrying to improve one's position and marrying to save one's family from disaster."

He pinned Darcy with a glare. "I am well aware of why she accepted. It's why _you_ bloody offered that has me steaming! You wanted her. Well and good. You would not have her because of her family. Well enough. Idiocy, but well enough. Seeing and taking an opportunity to get what you want while easing your conscience in an act of 'benevolence' toward a vulnerable woman who wants nothing to do with you? That is _not_ well done!"

"Charles–"

" _No!_ The reason, the _only_ reason I let you and my sisters talk me into staying in London, despite Jane's indifference, is because given her sweet nature it was entirely probable she would be pushed or manipulated into accepting a hand her heart rejected. I would have returned, I would have cultivated her affections like a tender garden, I would have _fought_ for her love. But real love is not selfish and above all I would not have the lady I love _forced_ to the alter of duty! Now you tell me that you have done exactly that to Jane's beloved sister? How does that sit with Darcy honor, pray tell? How could you!"

Angrily Charles picked up his jacket. Darcy stood, one had raised in a pleading gesture.

"Charles, that is not how it was! I–"

"Stop, Darcy. I know you are clever. I know it is quite possible I will forgive you soon. But just at the moment I do not want to hear all your reasoned, logical arguments. You said I might be glad to see the back of you and you were right." Charles exited, slamming the door behind him.

He strode through the club leaving startled associates in his wake. He would have to find a small park to walk off his fury. Unfamiliar with the emotion he might be, yet even he knew better than to have certain discussions before spending anger's vigor in harmless exercise. But once that was done he would accept no more delays. He and Caroline were going to talk.

* * *

 _1st Scene:_ Ok, Darcy is being just a _wee_ bit obnoxious here. Before anyone strangles me, I would like to point out that both Darcy and Mr. Gardiner are meeting under _very_ different circumstances than in canon. Darcy's got a lot of soul-searching ahead of him still, something we didn't get to witness in canon.

 _2nd Scene:_ Poor Darcy! It's just not his day. I know why he did it, the subject of his and Elizabeth's feelings and actual events is still too tender for him to discuss easily, even knowing he ought; but he _did_ rather leave himself open to misinterpretation. Especially given his admission of Elizabeth's feelings and the strength of his earlier objections.

I am coming to like this Bingley more and more. I know that Bingley sometimes gets maligned for his supposed 'abandonment' of Jane. Perhaps in the future, maybe at the close of the tale, I'll post the reasoning behind _this_ take on his actions.

 _ **Notes from my research:**_ Thank you, thank you, thank you! While I'm still sorting through data, I'm finding some interesting stuff. Apparently, when it comes to Regency finances it might be better to ask about the specific year. It was a _very_ instable era financially, in large part due to the wars, and it got a lot worse before it got better. Even the gentry had to start giving some consideration to personal economy before it was through.

 **How rich** _ **were**_ **they?** — _(Edited/incomplete until I can find more precise figures.)_ At the time of writing _First Impressions_ (the original title of _Pride & Prejudice_) Elizabeth's Hertfordshire was, at least for the working class, the poorest county in England, representing and still mired in an agricultural landscape. Darcy's Derbyshire had been stimulated by the new Industry and was the richest. Lady Catherine de Bourgh's county of Kent varied greatly from parish to parish, both in wages and treatment of the poor.

The Bennet girls would have upon their _mother's_ death, with the settlement monies invested at 5% Funds, an income of £50 each. This is sufficient to keep them fed, clothed, and housed, but nowhere near the manner in which they're accustomed. If they have any luxuries beyond that are going to be  very small. It will help somewhat if they pool their resources, as they most likely will. They would _consider themselves_ destitute. With their £50 per annum it would be miraculous if matrimony did not mean an exit from the gentry class, a fate often considered worse than a lifetime of spinsterhood. (Several commenters here are correct that  unless they lose this inheritance they will not be looking at employment for survival. They _will_ still be looking at great pressure to marry, both from their own feelings at perceived poverty, and from a desire to cease being a burden on their uncle. The text will be amended in the 2nd draft.)

Mr. Wickham as a lieutenant would receive £118 s12 p6 per year (assuming my calculations are correct, but _this_ number is at least exact). Wickham was a gambler and spendthrift to begin with, and with gambling rampant among the lower ranking officers it isn't surprising this continued. But the _'considerably more'_ than **£1,000** of debt Darcy had to pay off for him to marry Lydia is absolutely disgraceful.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, barring any other personal incomes, would receive £410 s12 p6 per year. A nice income for the time (assuming you survive the wars), certainly nothing to sneer at, but a gentleman's daughter looking to wed can very reasonably look higher.

Caroline Bingley, with her inheritance invested at 5%, could expect £1,000 annually. So long as her brother or sister lives she will not have to worry about room, board, and possibly clothing, so that's _all_ disposable income.

The same goes for Georgiana. Her lump inheritance of £30,000, if invested in the 5% government bonds, would provide an annual income of £1,500 — a tidy sum had Wickham gotten his hands on it.

Mr. Bennet, at an annual income of £2,000 would be considered of lower to middling in terms of the landed gentry. Unless he was a completely indifferent landowner, and some were, some of that income must go back into maintenance and improvement of the land/rentals. His lot is a comfortable one, though not great by gentry standards, and he is able to support a wife who spends more than she ought, but either is not able or (more likely) not willing to simultaneously secure his wife and daughter's futures. Mr. Bennet is a big fish in a small pond, but no more—at least in gentry terms.

Mr. Bingley, with his £5,000 per year falls in what one source labeled the lowest ranks of the 'Upper Four Hundred'. The 400 families were the top financially ranked families in the country. According to a census taken 20 years prior to P&P (the closest I could find) their ranks began at £5,000 and extended to £50,000, with the majority falling in the £10,000 zone. It is little wonder that the Superior Sisters are turning up their noses at Hertfordshire society. Moving as they do among the 400, even its lower end, they are accustomed to a _far_ more rarified company.

Darcy's fortune is estimated at £10,000 per year, putting him on equal terms with the Great Landlords if he isn't one himself. There is good reason for Mrs. Bennet to go just a little faint at the thought of Elizabeth marrying Darcy.

 _[Note the twenty year gap and take the two previous paragraphs with a grain of salt.]_

Austen brushes rather lightly over the financial aspects in _Pride and Prejudice_ compared some of her other books, but when you stop and think about all this the consequences are rather staggering. It explains why some academics (uncomfortable, perhaps, with classifying a mere 'romance novel' in with the great books) speak of the plot in terms of social and financial triumph, rather than romantic.

One of the hardest things to come to grips with though, for me at least, is the Regency to Contemporary mindshift. I hear 'working poor' and my brain thinks 'lower working class'. But for the most part in the USA our lower working class have it, well, not easy, but certainly not barely a hair's breath ahead of starvation. _Literal_ starvation. That reality throws me for a loop, and can make it hard to judge the levels above it. I do my best but… And a nation with _**20%**_ to a _**third**_ of the populace at times on a starvation income? That's just– just–

…I have no words.

* * *

 _How Wealthy is Mr. Darcy – Really? Pounds and Dollars in the World of Pride and Prejudice_ , by James Heldman. This the source of the Bingly/Darcy estimates. While out of date, and possibly inaccurate in terms of pounds to dollars conversion, the paper gives a good overview of finances across Austen's works, as well as a glimpse of some of the difficulties of translating simple numbers into modern terms. I would recommend reading it in combination with a Telegraph article titled _Could Mr Darcy afford a stately home today?_ by Charlotte Runcie and Scott Cambell, in order to get a better glimpse of what the numbers **_mean_**.

Luckily, in the cases of Wickham and Colonel Fitzwilliam, the military kept much better records and it is possible to find an exact amount of daily pay for that year and do a little calculating. I lost the exact link (dangit!), but looking up – _British milita wage 1812_ is what got me there.


	7. Shadows

_Standard Disclaimer:_ I am not Jane Austen. I would love to meet her, but I don't own her works. This fiction is no more than a tribute to a beloved tale.

 **Chapter Seven**

Elizabeth had arrived at Gracechurch Street only to find all her relations elsewhere. She now impatiently paced the small parlor while waiting for her Aunt Gardiner and Jane's return from their outing, the rumble of passing wheels continually drawing her to the window, until at last she fretfully forced herself to ignore the sound. Her journey with Miss de Bourgh had for the most part been a welcome interval of distraction from her troubles, though Anne's description of Darcy's childhood antics and noble nature was so unconnected with Elizabeth's experience that she had several times caught herself back from inquiring whether they spoke of the same man. But the interlude had ended, the coach pulling up in front of the Gardiner's door, and Elizabeth was returned to grievous reality. With that return came the need to plan the unfolding of her news.

The greatest concern of course was Jane. Despite Kitty's belief in Jane's current fragility, no doubt inspired by their mother's lamentations over the loss of Bingley, Elizabeth knew her sister's strength and did not fear that grief would shatter her. But there were other matters which would trouble Jane if not handled carefully. Elizabeth found herself caught between a new reluctant sympathy with her mother and her efforts to see her daughters safely settled, and the old frustration at her mother's continual burdening of Jane with her expectations.

Of secondary importance, but perhaps more personally pressing, was a way to smooth over her past words of contempt for the man she was soon to wed. Happy though Jane was to view all persons and situations in the best possible light, she was too intelligent to believe Elizabeth had suddenly tumbled into love with a man she'd previously despised. Jane had never shared Elizabeth's poor opinion of Mr. Darcy. That would help. But she would inevitably understand that her sister's reason for marriage had nothing to do with affection; for all her good will, Jane Bennet was not stupid. Nor was her aunt, though her aunt at least had not been witness to the most vehement of Elizabeth's criticisms.

 _It is strange,_ Elizabeth mused, _how even in the midst of grief and loss, we yet have thought to spare for the most petty bulwarks of pride._

The sound of a door opening and footsteps in the hall interrupted this contemplation.

"–and Susan, see your siblings to the nursery now, it's time we all got some rest." Her aunt entered the room, draping a shawl around her shoulders as she moved. "Shall we ask Burt to stoke the- Lizzy!"

Surprise, pleasure, confusion, and concern all showed in Aunt Gardiner's face. Elizabeth took a half-step to the side and, turning, gestured toward the hearth. "The fire is already burning for your comfort, Aunt. There is no need to rouse the servants."

"Lizzy?" Jane, her footsteps doubling back at the sound of Elizabeth's voice, appeared from behind Aunt Gardiner. "What a delight!" She greeted Elizabeth with a quick embrace. "But we did not expect you for a week or more. Has something happened at Hunsford?"

"In a sense. No, Charlotte is well, have no fear on that count." Elizabeth tugged her sister down to sit beside her on a couch. Their aunt, her expression perplexed, drifted to rest in an opposing chair. "I have two pieces of news, and when I have unfolded both I hope you will forgive me for speaking of the more pleasant topic first. My uncle was to be acquainted with the latter, so I must believe preparations are already underway."

"Can you be any more mysterious, Lizzy?" Jane laughed.

For a moment Elizabeth was tempted to a teasing response, just to delay her disclosures that little while more. But it would not do. Instead, she swallowed and prepared to follow her charted course.

"While I was at Hunsford, another visit was taking place at Rosings. Mr. Darcy and his cousin, a Colonel Fitzwilliam, had come to attend Lady Catherine de Bourgh for a time. We were often invited to dine at Rosings. It seems Lady Catherine shares our mother's view concerning sufficient company to entertain. As well, since Hunsford and Rosings share a lane, the two parties encountered one another on occasion in our walks. I had a number of conversations with the gentlemen. In short, I am now, pending our Uncle's approval, engaged to Mr. Darcy."

"Engaged!" Jane echoed in astonishment. "To Mr. Darcy? No, this cannot be true. I know how you dislike him. It is impossible!"

Jane's reaction was all Elizabeth had expected, and she ruefully wished that she had been somewhat more moderate in her expression of her opinions. Her aunt, however, had caught the mention of her own husband, and a concerned frown had begun to grow. Knowing the second disclosure would soon be upon her, Elizabeth hastened to address Jane's doubt.

"I have reason now to believe he is not so wholly without virtue as I once thought. But you have never taken my view of him, so this must not be such a revelation to you."

"No, of course not." Jane gave a small shake of her head. "But I also know your nature, Lizzy. Can a few conversations truly work such a change? And– What has our uncle to do with the matter?"

Elizabeth clasped Jane's hands. "Mr. Darcy happened upon me yesterday, just after I had read a distressing letter from home. He was very kind. This morning he called on the parsonage and made his offer. In light of the letter's contents I could only accept. Jane…"

Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth forced herself to continue, her words bringing an added layer of confirmation to her own mind this was not some extended and horrible dream. "The letter was from Kitty. There has been a carriage accident. Lydia has some broken bones, but is otherwise whole in body. Mary may be paralyzed, her survival not yet certain. Our parents…our mother and father's spirits no longer reside in the mortal realm."

Several heartbeats passed while Jane sat as though carved in marble, the shock evident in every feature. Then her eyes closed and her hands leapt to cover her mouth. The only sounds became the tick of the clock in the hall and Jane's ragged breathing. Elizabeth glanced up at Mrs. Gardiner, who was caught up in her own mournful thoughts.

"My dear aunt, may we impose on you for some privacy?" Elizabeth asked quietly.

"Of course, if that is your wish." Their aunt hesitated, then rose. Grasping Jane's shoulder in a brief but sympathizing hold, she exited the parlor, softly closing the door behind her.

Edging closer, Elizabeth slid an arm around her sister and waited patiently. Several more minutes passed.

"Do you need me to leave as well, Jane?" The question was soft, careful.

One hand shot out to seize Elizabeth's wrist in a desperate hold. The motion broke Jane's control; a single sob escaped and silent tears began to roll down her cheeks. Elizabeth held her gently as Jane's head came to rest on her shoulder.

0-0-0 0-0-0 0-0-0

Elizabeth stared at the image she had drawn in frustration.

Jane had withdrawn to her bed to rest. A message sent to their uncle had been replied to with a confirmation that he was aware of all events, but was forced to attend to business for the day. Until their uncle's return no further plans could be made. Elizabeth had found herself at loose ends for employment, and in no mood fit for conversation. She'd returned to her pacing. Thoughts of Kitty and Lydia, and most of all poor Mary swirled endlessly in her brain, the relentless need to _do something_ pressing hard upon her spirits. But her sisters were in Longbourn and she was in London and there was nothing left for her but to wait. Her sheer helplessness was an almost physical agony.

A sympathetic Aunt Gardiner had finally suggested she practice her sketching. It was one of the few feminine accomplishments Elizabeth much cared for, her energetic nature unsuited to many domestic tasks. Even in this endeavor she was well aware her impatience with stillness showed, far more often producing a rough mess of hurried lines than anything resembling true art. But when weather trapped all indoors, she and her sisters had been obliged to find occupation where they could, and many days she simply hadn't been able to bear the thought of yet more stitches, screens, and bonnets.

Elizabeth had gratefully taken her aunt's suggestion. She retrieved the drawing materials from their customary storage and settled into her appointed task. Her first choice of subject, her parents dressed for a Sunday walk, proved inadvisable, the page swiftly discarded when half begun. It had taken some moments to calm her feelings. Careful consideration turned her mind in another direction and at last she was able to lose herself in the unfolding scene.

As had occasionally occurred before, she found herself in a meditative state; her hands moving almost on their own, her mind occupied with shape and shadow, line and color. It was not until the picture was complete that she truly saw what she had drawn. All her frustration rushed back to her. She'd intended a simple scene, an image of Darcy overlooking a prosperous valley, his expression satisfied. But somehow the scene had changed. Foreboding clouds now filled the skies, shadows filled the valley, and the pensive figure was barely more than a silhouette on a rugged hill.

"I do not understand," she said softly.

"What was that, Lizzy?" Aunt Gardiner looked up from where she was skillfully mending a torn pair of her son's breeches.

Elizabeth hesitated then decided that anything her aunt relayed to her uncle could only forward the match, her feelings toward the man having been so thoroughly aired. She could not, of course, speak of the events of the previous evening. (Had it only been last night? It seemed so much longer.) But other events were not so sensitive. She turned to her aunt. "I do not understand how a man could be of such different character in two people's eyes."

"Who do you speak of?" her aunt asked.

"Mr. Darcy."

Aunt Gardiner's eyebrows shot up, her expression shifting into concern. "I had wondered. Is your opinion not so changed after all, then?"

"My opinion, my dear aunt, is very confused." Taking a breath, Elizabeth began to explain. "When Mr. Darcy came to Hertfordshire he was everything I first described to you. Proud, aloof, at times outright insulting in his disdain for his company. Mr. Wickham's recounting of Mr. Darcy's actions toward him was a surprise, but one in line with his observed character. The only dissenting note to the tune is his friendship with Mr. Bingley; but Mr. Bingley's character is so amiable that I imagine there are few people he does _not_ like. In our encounters in Kent Mr. Darcy was much the same, though the signs of contempt were lacking.

"Yet, when he found me in tears at Kitty's letter he was everything a gentleman should be. Kind, concerned, seeking to ease my distress. And then this morning he came to the parsonage to propose marriage to me. His obvious pride and disdain for our family and the distance between our stations, even before…before my parents passing…it all would seem to forbid even the idea of an offer. But he _did_ offer. And then—did I mention that Miss Ann de Bourgh accompanied me on my journey here?"

Her aunt shook her head.

"Well, she did." For a moment Elizabeth was diverted. "Miss de Bourgh is a true delight. I never would have guessed it. She barely made a peep while at Rosings. But in truth she's like a clear spring brook, bubbling over with sweetness and humor." The memory made her smile. "I hope you have a chance to meet her; you would like her very much. But I mention her because Mr. Darcy became the main topic of our conversation."

"Indeed?"

Elizabeth summarized Ann's joy in her two gallant cousins and their youthful exuberance, followed by her glowing estimation of their characters as adults. She finished by saying, "So you see, Aunt, why I am so confused? It is not simply that Miss de Bourgh's account of him is different than Mr. Wickham's. Some variance must be expected. But that they are so very different as to completely oppose one another? And his actions in Hunsford are nothing I would have expected."

Mrs. Gardiner sat for a time considering Elizabeth's words. "There are some men," she said slowly, "who have the ability to separate the parts of themselves so distinctly, depending upon their company. But I am not so certain that this is the case here. Tell me, what is your estimation of Miss de Bourgh's intelligence in general?"

Elizabeth bit her lip. "She does not seem lacking on that score. But…she has been very isolated. Her mother is very concerned that the distinctions of rank are maintained. Between this and her poor health she's had little in the way of companionship. Still, one of the events she mentioned was a time when a fortune-hunter was pursuing her widowed mother, and none but her cousins would believe Ann's distrust of the man. Her cousins' intervention proved her right. So, she seems to have some degree of discernment, despite her lack of experience with society."

"Then we will not dismiss her account. Two thoughts occur to me, Lizzy. The first is that we truly know almost nothing for certain regarding either Mr. Darcy, Mr. Wickham, or Mr. Bingley. They have all come to us with little but their personal charms and fortunes to recommend them. We cannot assume Wickham or Bingley are entirely innocent." She raised her hand when Elizabeth began to protest. "I know you like them, but a fair face and amiable nature does not indicate virtue any more than a proud and unsociable manner indicates villainy."

Her aunt hummed a small tune in contemplation. "I believe I shall write my cousin Cecily who lives in Derbyshire, near Pemberley. She has a keen eye for character and a nose for gossip, so she is as likely as anyone to be able to find the truth of those two gentlemen. As for Mr. Bingley… We shall ask my husband to make some inquiries regarding Mr. Bingley's dealings at the same time as Mr. Darcy's. But I would like a better account. Do you know what part of the country the Bingleys come from?"

Elizabeth searched her memory. "Somewhere in the north country is all I know."

"Ah, well, Mr. Gardiner can most likely discover this too. Now, my second thought is this: I am aware that your first encounter with Mr. Darcy was a painful one for you, Lizzy, for all that you laughed about it." Aunt Gardiner studied her seriously. "I want you to set that encounter aside and spend some time looking back at events as though it hadn't occurred. It may make no difference, or you may find that it alters your view. But see where it leads you."

"You think that I will discover some hidden virtue in Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth asked skeptically.

"I think that when your information is not adding up, it is time to examine your sources," she said gently. "In this case, one of those sources is yourself."

Elizabeth sighed and nodded. "Very well, Aunt, I will try."

They discussed the matter for some further time without resolution, Elizabeth dragging from memory all she knew of the men. But these details made for a very small pile and Elizabeth was forced to concede that her aunt was right. Eventually she returned to her art and her aunt to her sewing, as they awaited Mr. Gardiner's return.

* * *

 _ **Notes from my research:**_

Thank you for all the feedback – perhaps _especially_ those who disagree with me. You inspire me to fact-check, which is always good.

 **Much Vociferous Swearing ! ! ! —** Further research specifically on attorneys has led me to _**seriously**_ question the contemporary-to-1759 wage chart when it comes to that profession, even regarding its own year of publication, which calls into question the rest of the data as well. A reminder, I suppose, that they were as susceptible to wild-ass guessing back then as we are now. (And it was such a lovely chart, too. _sigh_ ) I have taken the figures based on it down. (Mr. Phillips, Mr. Gardiner, and Mr. Collins.) Until, and unless I can find some data more specific to the relevant time period and professions ( **not** the Victorian figures most quote) I will be sticking to the internal evidence of Austen's works when it comes to finances. Given the financial volatility of the era I'll be trying to stay within a decade prior to P &P in my research, or no more than five years after.

 **A Clarification —** One reviewer made me realize I had stated something in a way that was contextually misleading. While that part of the post has now been removed (see note above), I would like to clarify that, while reasonably successful, I do **not** place Mr. Gardiner in the range of gentry equivalent income for reasons I may discuss later. A wealthy Gardiner _is_ a viable interpretation of the text, but so is an upper-middle class one. Since my story needs a less well-off uncle, I choose the latter.

Austen actually gives us a glimpse in P&P of three different income brackets for successful businessmen. The first, and whom I place as upper middle-class to lower upper-class in income, is Mr. Gardiner. The second is Sir William Lucas, Charlotte's father, who has made the transition from businessman to gentry in his lifetime, though some point to his choice as precipitous. The third is Mr. Bingley's father, who must have been a _**phenomenal**_ businessman to place his children so high in fortune and society upon their entry into the gentry (non-working) class.

A Guest noted that Wickham says Darcy's estates net him a 'clear' £10,000 per year. While I don't put much store by Wickham's veracity in general, I can see no reason for him lie about this and he was in a position to know. So, assuming no outside investments, we can take the £10,000 as confirmed.

Regarding Mr. Collins…see the first note. Another point to clarify is that the income provided by a parish varied depending on the prosperity of its inhabitants; and while the living from a single a parish might not bring a clergyman a substantial income, it was possible (though not standard) to have charge of multiple parishes. The latter does not seem to be the case with Mr. Collins, but he does at least have an income he considers sufficient to marry on. If we reference _Sense and Sensibility_ we find that the  very sensible Edward and Elinor do **not** consider £350 per annum enough to marry on, so it is likely Collins income is higher than that. (Something to consider in relation to the Bennet's pooled £250 per annum, or £50 singular.)


	8. Sisterhood

_Sorry, this last week was a bad one for sleep and I don't write very well in zombie-mode, so it will be a short entry this time round._

 _ **Note:** A change is being made to the 2nd draft – Mr. Gardiner discovered Kitty's letter among his business correspondence only that morning, and has had no opportunity to share the news with his wife._

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

Mrs. Gardiner had always taken an interest in her husband's business and so it was no surprise to her when her husband did not appear in time for supper. A problem had recently developed with a few of his suppliers, necessitating quick substitutions of stock; negotiations were underway for new sources but these would take some time to complete, and until this was done Mr. Gardiner's days would be long and exhaustive.

At her aunt's suggestion, Elizabeth assembled a tray to take into her sister. She found Jane awake and staring into empty space. Her sister responded to her urgings to eat with compliance but it was not until the food was consumed and the dishes cleared that she spoke.

"I am so sorry, Lizzy."

"For what? None of what has happened was in your power to affect."

Jane avoided her eyes, looking down at the bedspread and tracing its quilted pattern with one finger. "You should not have been placed under this burden. If I had done more to attract Mr. Bingley, had encoura-

"Hold your tongue, Jane Bennet." Elizabeth crossed the room to sit in front of her sister on the bed. "Would it have been good if Mr. Bingley had asked for your hand? Yes. But no more than if another like him had asked after Mary, or Kitty. Should we blame Mary for not securing Mr. Hartford after he asked her to dance at last year's spring assembly? Should we blame Kitty that one of those officers she chases so assiduously has not lost all reason and begged for her partnership in matrimony? When all is said, we are _not_ responsible for the choices of another."

"But it is my choices I speak of." Jane's eyes shimmered. "I always disdained our mother's talk of stratagem and display. Always believed a woman's natural virtues to be sufficient to draw a worthy man's attention. But look at all that has happened. If I had been more animated, more welcoming…"

"Then you would not be the Jane he fell in love with. No," Elizabeth stilled Jane's protest, "do not argue with me that he was not. Whatever your feelings for him, I have my own eyes and they were witness to his feelings for you. He loved _you_ , the kind, gentle, reserved Jane you have always been. Has it not occurred to you that he's likely met many a lively and welcoming girl before, and they did nothing to stir his soul? That others, who have no doubt pursued him in the manner you suggest, have left him unmoved or only lightly touched? It is not as though those of our sex will have disdained him for his fortune."

Jane shifted to curl into a protective ball, wrapping her arms about her legs.

"You are wrong. I was wrong. I did believe…I am certain he felt some attraction for me. But attraction alone is not love, and I did nothing to fix his interest, employed no signs to tell him of my affections. No, Lizzy, if it was love that he felt why then did he not return to Hertfordshire? Failing this, he is aware of my presence in London, he could easily have visited me here had he wished to continue the acquaintance." Jane shook her head, "Whatever he felt, it was not sufficient to hold him to my side. _I_ was not sufficient. Mama was right. Or Caroline was right and Miss Darcy's virtues proved superior to my own. He can certainly afford to reach much higher than a country gentleman's daughter. No, he does not care for me, or he does not think me worthy to stand at his side. And that is at least in part my doing."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to tell her sister of Mr. Darcy's intervention – and hesitated. Her aunt's words had reminded her that she had no actual proof of his actions, only a certainty that it was Jane whom Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke of. No, Mr. Darcy had not denied it, but he had not addressed it either. And it would hurt Jane to know that Mr. Darcy, soon to be her brother by marriage, had thought so little of their family that he'd believed it necessary to shield his friend from the connection. No, she _could_ not speak of this.

Sighing, Elizabeth slumped to rest on her side. "Jane, no one with even half a mind would think you unworthy. But in the end, regardless of what you did or did not do, it does not really matter why he chose not to offer for you. It was _his_ choices which separated you, not yours. You would have accepted him gladly. And truthfully, if you had gotten him through Mama's means it would have been a façade, a mask. Would you truly want _any_ man under those circumstances? To know your entire life you must either continue in deceit or reveal to the man who you swore to honor above all others that he was taken in by his bride?"

Jane began to caress Elizabeth's hair in distracted thought. "You are right, of course," she acknowledged. "It would be intolerable. But I cannot help but consider that had we wed, you would not now be betrothed to a man you despise."

"Would you believe me if I told you I do not despise him?" Elizabeth asked, closing her eyes.

"No."

Elizabeth reached out to capture her sister's unoccupied hand. "Please, listen to me. Had our positions been reversed, had it been you that Mr. Darcy had offered for, with all your sister's futures hanging in the balance and your heart unengaged by another, would you have chosen differently than I?"

Silence reigned for a time, Jane continuing her soft, comforting strokes. "I would have accepted as well," she admitted softly.

"Why?"

"Lizzy–"

"Why?"

"Because," Jane said reluctantly, "I could not have born seeing my sisters miserable when it was within my means to aid them."

"Do you think my love any less than your own?"

Jane's hand halted. "No, of course not."

"Then please, dearest to my heart," Elizabeth softly begged, "do not make my path more difficult by blaming yourself over things you could not or would not change. It was _my_ choice, and as much as I fear the future, I do not regret it."

Elizabeth waited, praying, until she heard Jane swallow, her voice thick with unshed tears. "All right, Lizzy, I will try. For you."

In the distance, they heard the front door open and shut, followed by slow, tired footsteps in the hall. Jane began to rise but Elizabeth held her back.

"Let our aunt and uncle have some time to themselves. He has not yet had opportunity to grieve. Aunt Gardiner knows where we are and can send for us when they are ready."

Jane settled back to the bed and the two sisters waited in solemn and tender devotion.


	9. Insomnia

_Disclaimer: I am not Jane Austen and will never be Jane Austen. I'm just borrowing her world for a little while. I promise to return it in good condition._

Well, I'm back… At least partly. _Life interruptus_ has been interrupting lately, I'm afraid. Still, I've managed to get _something_ done. As an apology and thank you for your patience you're getting a nice double-post this time. This scene I managed to haul out from the current mental fog, and may read like it. The next chapter though has been done for a while, we just finally caught up to it. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

Darcy slung the saddlebag into a corner of his inn room with a weary sigh, stripped off his coat and jacket and sat down to begin the irksome task of removing his riding boots without aid, his hands clumsy with fatigue. Ashton would arrive tomorrow and no doubt have some sharp words for his master, but Darcy was simply too worn out to worry overmuch about the proper care of his apparel at present.

Tomorrow…tomorrow he would have to present himself at Longbourn with Mr. Gardiner's explanatory letter and begin to deal with the merchants. He could only hope that he would be able to do so without chasing all around the village and the nearby town of Meryton. Perhaps if he informed the first merchant to approach that he would be settling accounts from the location of the inn —no that would not do. At least one merchant had already proven ready to unjustly harass and deceive Miss Catherine. Working from the inn would allow scoundrels to bypass him in favor of a more pliable victim. No, he would have to see that a suitable chaperone was present and work from Longbourn itself. He could send a messenger into the town once he knew how the accounts stood.

Freed of the imprisonment of stiff leather, Darcy took a moment to simply enjoy the relief, wiggling toes and stretching tired arms and shoulders. Levering himself upward with a groan, he removed his remaining outer garments and lay them over the back of the chair. Blissful though a hot bath sounded, it was too late in the evening to reasonably ask for the laborious effort such would require and in any event he hardly expected to be able to remain awake for one. Instead he made do with tepid water from the pitcher and basin to remove the worst of the travel dust before collapsing, face down, onto the narrow bed. He anticipated that unconsciousness would swiftly follow.

Sleep, however, did not come.

He lay there, exhaustion filling his aching bones with heavy lead, his eyes with abrasive sand, and his mind with thick molasses, and yet Somnus forbade Darcy his blessing. Tasks in need of doing, worries for the future, and scenes from the previous few days filled his mind in an unending parade.

The marriage settlements. Elizabeth's sisters _must_ be provided for, but how to do so without offending her uncle? And there would be the inevitable offense by society to their union. He had woken up two mornings ago to the realization that he simply wasn't strong enough to forget Elizabeth and move on. But for all her worth, and for all that she was gentry-born, she was a country miss whose family had not even the resources to give her a season in London; while _he_ had been a desirable prize, sought after and hunted even before he had finished his schooling, by the very ladies and match-making mamas who would now dictate Elizabeth's acceptance or condemnation. No, he could not reasonably expect society to be kind. But how was he possibly to protect her?

His family. Most of them he was fairly certain would not be pleased yet would accept Elizabeth in time. But expecting Lady Catherine to accept any Pemberley bride but Anne with grace would be to embrace a fantasy. Despite both his and Anne's continued refusal to oblige her with matrimony, Lady Catherine had never been persuaded to give up her marriage scheme. And as the years had passed without Darcy taking any other bride she had grown ever more certain of her inevitable victory. The peal she would ring over his head when she learned of his aiding Anne's escape would be nothing compared to her wrath when she discovered _he_ had at last slipped from her noose. From this too he must find a way to shield Elizabeth.

Georgiana. There was no doubt his sister would welcome Elizabeth and Miss Bennet, but how would she fare in dealing with the younger siblings? They were similar in age but from what he had observed they could not have been more different in character, and this too was a concern. His sister was barely beginning to recover from the Ramsgate debacle. If he took Elizabeth's sisters into his own household, as would be the most practical option, would their company draw Georgiana out or push her even more firmly into her retreat from life? When it had been only Elizabeth's effect on Georgiana to consider he'd had no hesitation, for he could not imagine anything but good coming from it. But now? Yet there was no honorable way to decline their company.

Honorable. Darcy winced. For a moment Bingley's explosive reaction to his attempted apology crowded out other concerns. Despite Darcy's humble words, part of him had expected Charles to simply shrug and accept his actions. With justified irritation perhaps, but certainly not with the contemptuous anger he'd expressed. Nor could Darcy blame him. Even knowing better, long familiarity with the younger man's easy nature and dislike of conflict had led him to, in some measure, dismiss Charles as having little depth of feeling. That, even more than his own hypocritical interference, had not been the act of a friend. No, Darcy had not acquitted himself well there and the memory pained him. Charles was mistaken in some of his anger, but the heart of it was just.

But of all the times for Charles' idealistic streak to raise its head! Just what should Darcy have done? Stood aside as Elizabeth and her sisters fell into near penury or worse? Remained in comfort while scheming merchants stripped them of even the paltry inheritance they would receive? While their uncle seemed a decent fellow, he had his own family to look after. The sudden imposition of five women into his household could not help but strain the man's finances and residence, perhaps even permanently afflict his own children's futures. And living with their uncle would sound a death-knell for the Bennet's chances of marrying within the class of their birth.

Darcy frowned. Wasn't there another uncle in Meryton, an attorney or some such? Given the relative distances, why had he not been given the guardianship instead? The sisters would have had far fewer adjustments to deal with if they were only required to move a few miles down the road. Was there something to be cautious of there? But perhaps given the change in their circumstances complete removal would be the kinder option in the end.

And Wickham! He should have known as soon as he found him in Meryton that the blackguard would find yet another way to torment him. Ever since the death of Darcy's father the bit and bridle had been removed from Wickham's insolent bitterness. The man had been barely civil when he wanted something and his behavior when denied had been nothing short of abusive. The whispered lies which at times reached Darcy's ears had not surprised him; he'd thought it well worth the cost to be rid of the wretch. If only he'd been truly banished. Wickham's words to Georgiana once his plot had been uncovered had cut her vulnerable heart and even shakier confidence to shreds. Darcy had only barely restrained himself from committing murder. If Wickham had any notion of the fruit his latest efforts had borne he would be beside himself with joy.

Somehow, someway, Darcy would have to convince Elizabeth of the truth of Wickham. The charming devil was already in her good graces as Darcy was not, and Darcy no longer had any certainty as to what boundaries Wickham would not cross if he saw a chance to injure his one-time friend.

Then there was Elizabeth herself.

Again and again memories of the last eve forced their way into his mind. Both his words and her own, the turn of her countenance as she spoke. The shocking knowledge that he had misjudged the situation so badly that even facing complete catastrophe she had flatly denied him. The even more lowering realization the next morning that she truly felt she was sentencing herself to a lifetime of unhappiness for the sake of her family. And yet his Elizabeth still had the integrity to offer him an escape had he chosen to take it.

No, not _his_ Elizabeth at all. Perhaps never truly. And he would have to find a way to accept that.

Darcy groaned, rolled over and attempted to punch the lumpy pillow into some semblance of support. But there was no comfort to be found as the memories continued their relentless march. He could not have said at what hour sleep at last took him into its grudging embrace, but he knew the last damning whisper that echoed through his mind, for it was the same on which he woke.

… _had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner._

* * *

 **A rather meandering bit of introspection, I fear. It probably reflects just how brain-fogged I am lately. This will most likely be cut down somewhat in the final draft, but it will do for the present.**


	10. Catching Up With Kitty

_Disclaimer: I am not Jane Austen, and make no claim to owning her world or characters. I just play there sometimes._

Aaand the 2nd entry for this posting. In the book this will most likely be the start of chapter 3.

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

For Catherine Bennet most of the events surrounding the discovery of her parents' deaths and the days following would forever be shrouded by shock, fatigue, and a sense of growing desperation. Moments would return but the whole was lost in the mists; and the memories, like sunlight reflecting from a stream, caused her mind's eye to flinch and narrow.

Being shaken to wakefulness by a kind and worried face hovering over her. Mrs. Hill, needing to know if the Bennets had made plans to overnight at the Philips. Sleepiness, after too many hours of pain from her woman's cycle, had made her tongue sharp and she'd had to apologize once her mind had risen with her body.

Helping to prepare a spiced tea to sustain the searchers in the bitter cold. It might be years before the scent of cloves did not bring with it a heartbeat of fear.

Mr. Humbolt standing before her, his weary brow drawn with sorrow, hands wringing his cap helplessly as he spoke to her of her parent's end.

The faces of the servants and tenants turned to her in expectation, and the belated knowledge that she was the only Bennet in residence capable of dealing with the situation. Somehow she had gathered her wits sufficiently to give orders which, judging by their expressions, were not _too_ henwitted. And then, as soon as a soul was available, sending for her Uncle Philip.

Taking a wash cloth to Lydia, half frozen and covered face to hem in their mother's blood, her gaze almost fixed, so that the Mr. Burnside could examine her on his arrival; while in the background footsteps rushed heated water and stones to Mary's room.

The short discussion with Mrs. Hill to block off a room of the house in which to place the bodies, screening the windows with fabric, but otherwise allowing the season's unnatural cold to preserve them for burial.

Her parent's return. Their cleaning and preparation. Kitty had once heard her friend Maria speak in hushed solemnity of this final service to Grandmother Lucas with a kind of awe and quiet joy. For Kitty the experience was very different. While she had performed her duty with white-lipped determination there had been only horror, the worst of which was not the injuries the bodies had sustained but the sheer _nothingness_ where once had been personality. Her parents no longer inhabited their mortal shells and their lively faces' reduction to mere bone and flesh struck her with more chill than the weather's slicing wind ever could. Task completed, she had stepped away and vomited into a nearby bin.

Her Aunt Philips' arrival, hysteria, and subsequent retrieval blended into one nightmarish whole. Only her Uncle Philips apology and explanation stood out with any clarity. Her aunt had apparently intercepted the first message and, in her grief and her rush to her beloved niece's side, had forgotten to inform her husband of the tragedy. His first awareness of events had been Kitty's second note. Sorely tempted though she was to beg her uncle to take over the complex business at hand, she knew from immediate experience that all her uncle's energies would be required to deal with her aunt. And so, promising dutifully to give heed to Mrs. Greentree's wisdom as a parson's wife, she waved her uncle and still wailing aunt into their waiting vehicle.

The interruption of breakfast by Mr. Bromley, prompting a panicked reconnaissance into her father's forbidden study.

Though the general funeral favors could wait, the more personalized items required selection and Kitty had been forced again to breech her parents' privacy, scavenging their possessions for appropriate remembrances and sending into Meryton for black ribbon and silk cloth.

Mrs. Hill's tart admonishment upon Kitty's second night of vigil in the freezing parlor that "they aren't going to get any livelier, girl, and they'll not thank you for joining them in their graves."

But, even with all the grim necessities of that time, April 11th of that year would always be marked as a day of wonder, for that was the day she came to believe in angels. Though she'd known better than show her contempt for the idea, the notion that any heavenly powers had much interest in the trials of poor suffering mortals had always struck her as childish fantasy; and the idea of a personal angel assigned to one Catherine Bennet was complete nonsense. If her own mother could see her only as her sisters' shadow, why would a more distant being take any notice of her at all?

The arrival of Darcy early that morning and his subsequent routing of the Hertfordshire merchants was astonishing but not miraculous. If her uncle could not immediately travel it only made sense that he would send another in his place; though how _Mr. Darcy_ came to fill that role she could only speculate. No, the defining moment of that day did not come until much later.

Kitty and Mrs. Greentree were in the smaller parlor, assembling sprigs of rosemary bound in black ribbon to be used as general favors, while Mr. Croftford reviewed the funeral plans with them. Mr. Darcy, currently between interviews and apparently deprived of occupation by his own efficiency, entered the room carrying a book she recognized from her father's library. His arrival halted the conversation but when he motioned them to continue and settled into a comfortable chair to read, it soon resumed.

He paid them no heed at first. Gradually, however, the book began to lower. After a time, and with the idle air of one fighting complete boredom, he asked if he might see the list of plans. This he was given. After its review he asked in a similar tone for the billing list. This Mr. Croftford attempted to defer, saying the list was not yet complete. Mr. Darcy replied that a partial list would do as well as a full and Mr. Croftford was obliged to comply. This second list was examined without change in expression. Thus the question, entering into a natural pause in the discussion, came as lightning from a clear sky.

"Mr. Croftford, is there any particular reason you would care to mention why I should not have you taken out and shot?" Mr. Darcy's voice was calm, level, and _lethal_. Mr. Croftford began to sputter. A rapid flow of words followed, slowly winding down in the face of Mr. Darcy steady gaze. That gaze transferred to the women. "Mrs. Greentree, you aided with this list?"

Kitty hurriedly intervened. "My Aunt Philips handled the majority of the arrangements. I've largely confirmed her choices. Mr. Darcy, there are not many families of status in the area, and Mr. Croftford is obliged to handle funerals through all our levels of society. I'm sure if something is lacking, it is only through ignorance of more modern traditions. We are not London sophisticates here, you know."

Mr. Darcy's looked at her, his countenance unchanged, and Kitty's heart quailed.

"I think I see," he said at last. "Ladies, my sincerest apologies for my assumptions. Now, Mr. Croftford, if you would adjourn with me to Mr. Bennet's study?"

Kitty and Mrs. Greentree exchanged wide-eyed glances as a terrified Mr. Croftford followed in Mr. Darcy's wake.

"He– He couldn't really have Mr. Croftford shot," Kitty gulped. "Could he?"

Mrs. Greentree did not answer. Within a few minutes the parson's wife had found an excuse to flee. Kitty could not blame her. _She_ would have like to flee Mr. Darcy as well, and waited with dread for the men to return. The tying of ribbons to rosemary proved a poor distraction.

Mr. Croftford did not return to the parlor upon his emergence however, instead moving swiftly out the door to safety and Mr. Darcy's countenance as he handed her a new set of papers was not the condemnation she feared. Instead he seemed to bear a world-weary sorrow, speaking to her with gentle courtesy.

"Mr. Croftford has seen fit to draw up new plans for your parents' memorializing, ones more in line with their station in the community and your family's resources."

"Oh." Kitty took the papers, setting them beside the rosemary to read when the favors were complete. Mr. Darcy took up his book and chair once more, and all fell to silence. Despite her sillier habits of thought, Kitty was not actually an imbecile, and Mr. Darcy's three final words had provided the necessary clue; but she could hardly believe it. "Mr. Croftford is highly respected in the community," she ventured quietly.

Mr. Darcy looked up, sighed, and put down his book to face her.

"Miss Catherine, it is my sincere hope and intention that you never again be placed in the situation you've been in for the last few days. But should such occur, I would have you remember three things. The first is that the majority of tradesmen are simply men, no better or worse than their neighbors; and when they come to you with their bills recall that they _deserve_ just recompense for the services they supply. A few, like Mr. Bromley—and I agree with your assessment there, odious is the only proper description—may become overly ambitious in their recompense, but most seek only what is due."

He waited for her understanding. Kitty frowned but reluctantly assented, and he continued. "The second is that, however harsh and cruel their actions may seem in the moment, they too have families they must support and their loyalty rightly belongs to them."

This caused Kitty to nod, remembering a comment her father once made when Lizzy asked why he'd denied their mother a desired London shopping trip when he certainly allowed her free reign at establishments closer to home. The concept of a duty to sponsor the local merchants through their patronage had been odd at first, but made sense when he explained how vulnerable many were to misfortune compared to their own circumstances. Kitty had gone out and bought a new (and sad to say, atrocious) bonnet immediately afterwards in a show of solidarity.

"The third," here Mr. Darcy's visage darkened, "is that there _are_ villains in the world. These you must be on watch for, because it is at precisely such times when they know you are the most vulnerable they will act. Not always from malice or greed, but certainly from indifference to the suffering they inflict.

"Your Mr. Croftford may well be respected by the community, but he is no saint. He recently got himself into dire financial straits. Your parents' deaths, grievous to you, seemed a godsend to him. He told himself that you had family to look after you, and could well afford to supply his wants. He encouraged your aunt to every excess, and your aunt, knowing little of the contemporary traditions of the gentry, sought to send your parents to their maker with every due respect. This would be evils enough, but he then proceeded to overcharge your bill to fantastical degree. There would have been little left for you and your sister's support."

Kitty paled. "He really…" Mr. Darcy nodded solemnly. "Oh," she said in a small voice.

Leaning forward, he took her hand. "Miss Catherine, whatever thoughts you now entertain, I hope that guilt is not among them. I understand that neither you nor your aunt had previously been obliged to deal with such matters and had no experience to guide you; and I am all too aware that most women are not taught much of how to handle more than household accounts. Do not blame yourself for the choices of another."

She swallowed and nodded. After taking a moment be sure of her acceptance, Mr. Darcy released her hand and returned to his text. Kitty turned back to her own task, mind whirling.

Mr. Bromley's greed, Mr. Croftford's treachery, her mother's remembered complaints, her aunt's wails, the kind but pitying looks of Mrs. Greentree and others, all danced in her head, spinning in a mad frenzy until one single point became clear.

Kitty burst into tears.

She was vaguely aware of Mr. Darcy looking up with a horrified expression, glancing around as if for rescue. When none appeared he abandoned the book and moved to sit beside her on the sofa. She felt herself taken into his arms, her hair petted, and the traditional, useless words of comfort expressed. She had no breath to speak and tell him it was not grief that prompted her weeping. She had been too pressed about by her sudden duties for that emotion to yet have much claim upon her. No, the cause of her outburst was not pain, but unadulterated relief and wonder.

She didn't have to hold the burden alone anymore. And the Lord in his infinite mercy had seen fit to send her an angel. That her particular guardian walked on mortal feet of clay instead of soaring on wings was only fitting. Not even her later discovery that angels could be grumpy, ridiculous, overbearing, and occasionally infuriating would ever change her opinion. There were indeed devils in the world. But there were also angels.

* * *

 **While it's purely coincidental, it seems appropriate somehow that the topic of angels came in time for this posting. At any rate, with the holiday bustle closing in on top of everything else, I don't know when my next post will be. If you don't hear from me next week then look for me after all the festivities die down. Merry Christmas and best wishes for the New Year to all of you**.


	11. Chapter 11

This is just a quick note to let you know that I'm putting this story on temporary hiatus.

Unfortunately I'm going through a bad stretch health-wise at the moment and what mental energy I can scrape up needs to go to meeting my commitments elsewhere. (Don't worry, it's nothing major, just the same-old song and dance, but it can take a bit for the roller-coaster to hit an up-swing.)

I _**do** _ expect to finish the story. As I said before, I've got people nagging me to finish on top of my own desire to know what happens next, so it's not likely to get forgotten. But for the moment my brain just isn't up for storytelling.

Best wishes, and I hope to see you soon!


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